dith casually. And then she looked up with a wan
little smile, to find an expression in her uncle's eyes that set her
wondering.

Oh, dear Heaven--was it like that? Would she grieve for Creed all her
life long, till she was an old, old woman? She declared it should not be
so. Love would never be within her reach--within the reach of her utmost
efforts--and escape her, leave her an empty husk to be blown by the wind
of years to the dust pile of death. One day in this mood she broke down
and talked to the Lusk girls.

"He said he'd shore come back," she concluded hopelessly. "Well, anyhow,
he named things that would be done when he come back. I call that a
promise. I keep thinking he'll come back."

Pendrilla sat, her great china-blue eyes fixed on Judith's tense, pale,
working face, and the big tears of pure emotional enjoyment began to slip
down her pink cheeks. In the glow of Judith's splendid, fiery nature, the
two pale little sisters warmed themselves like timid children at a chance
hearth. As the full, vibrant voice faltered into silence, Cliantha went
forward and took her favourite position on her knees beside Judith, her
arms raised and slipped around the taller girl's waist.

"Oh," she began, with a sort of frightened assurance. "Ef my lover had
gone from me thataway, and I didn't know whar he was at, an' couldn't git
no news to him nor from him, I know mighty well and good what _I'd_ do."

"What?" whispered Judith, young lioness that she was, reduced to taking
counsel from this mouse, "what would you do, Clianthy?"

"I'd make me a dumb supper and call him," asserted the Lusk girl with
tremulous resolution.

"A dumb supper!" echoed Judith, and then again, on a different key, "a
dumb supper. I never studied about such as that."

She brooded a moment on the thought, and the girls said nothing, watching
her breathlessly.

"Do you reckon hit'd do me any good?" she questioned then,
half-heartedly. "Why, dumb suppers always seemed to me jest happy
foolishness for light-hearted gals that had sweethearts."

"Oh, no!" disclaimed Pendrilla, joining her sister on the floor at
Judith's feet. "They ain't nothin' like foolishness about a shore-enough
dumb supper. Why, Judith, Granny Peavey, our maw's mother, told us oncet
about a dumb supper that her and two other gals made when she was but
sixteen year old, and her sweetheart away from her in Virginny, and she
didn't know whar he was at, an' they brought her tales