up here."

Calista was very sober. "If your aunt Hannah doesn't teach you not to
tell stories, then I must," she said. "I can't have you like this. Soon
I can't believe you anything. Come here." Mary came as if pulled. "Now
mind, I do this so that you don't say what isn't so again." She gave the
child two good slaps on the mouth with her strong hand.

The inherited spirit of resistance to coercion, that had made pioneers
and martyrs of Mary Rhein's ancestors, was let loose too soon: it made
an imp of her. She darted silently like an insect from under Calista's
hand, seized the inkstand, and threw it with all her might at the
beautiful white gown. The ink poured out, dripping from fold to fold,
and the stand thudded on the sheet and scattered the last drops. Mary
gave one look and ran across the porch and out to the road in the rain.

Calista sat still for a moment, then she got up weakly. "Doesn't look
much like a wedding-dress now," she murmured. "It's no use doing
anything to it. It's done for." She wiped the inkstand on a stained
flounce before setting it on the table. "_Now_," she said, as though
some one were present who would disapprove, "I give it to her good. I
better fetch her in and have it done before they get back."

The sky was low but the rain was gentle when she started down the road,
and her shawl made a bright spot between the fields, green as chromos.
Mary had gone toward the creek, and she followed as far as the bridge;
then, as there was no one in sight, she turned up-stream. It was deep
just there and very full, carrying leaves and twigs so that it was like
a little flood, and the water caught the dipping branches of the willows
and swept them along. The shellbarks looked forlorn in the rain, and
the ground was so soft that it gave under her feet. Her skirts and shoes
were heavy with wet before she saw Mary.

The child looked as though she were being crowded out of life. She was
crying, with small weak sounds like a wretched little animal, her hair
was dark with water, and the rain drove across her face. At the sight of
Calista she began to run slowly with much stumbling; her crying mixed
with the sound of the stream. Calista followed as fast as she could.

A little way up the creek was a log bridge without a rail. Conrad had
put it up for his own convenience, and Calista never tried to cross it.

"Ach!" she thought, "I don't hope she runs out there!" Then she began to
call, but Mary did not