rewing up her little
face, trying to make the puzzle out.

And when, later in the evening, Daddy Barclay went over to the mill
with his work, and Uncle Bob left in the twilight, and Aunt Molly and
mother were alone in mother's room, how should a little girl know what
the crying was all about, and how should a little girl understand when
a small woman, looking in a mirror, and dabbing her face with a powder
rag, said to mother, who knows everything in the world, and all about
the angels that brought you here: "Oh, Jane, Jane, you don't
know--you don't understand. There are things that I couldn't make you
understand--and I mustn't even think of them."

Surely it is a curious world for little girls--a passing curious
world, when there are things in it that even mothers cannot
understand.

So Jeanette turned her face to the wall and went to sleep, leaving
Aunt Molly powdering her nose and asking mother, "Does it look all
right now--" and adding, "Oh, I'm such a fool." In so illogical a
world, the reader must not be allowed to think that Molly Brownwell
lamented the folly of mourning for a handsome young gentleman in blue
serge with white spats on his shoes and a Byronic collar and a fluffy
necktie of the period. Far be it from her to lament that sentiment as
folly; however, when she looked at her eyes in the mirror and saw her
nose, she felt that tears were expensive and reproached herself for
them. But so long as these souls of ours, whatever they may be, are
caged in our bodies, our poor bodies will have to bear witness to
their prisoners. If the soul smiles the body shines, and if the soul
frets the body withers. And Molly Brownwell saw in the looking-glass
that night more surely than ever before that her face was beginning to
slump. Her cheeks were no longer firm, and at her eyes were the stains
of tears that would not wipe off, but crinkled the skin at the temples
and deepened the shadows into wide salmon-coloured lines that fell
away from each side of the nose so that no trick could hide them.
Moreover, the bright eyes that used to flash into Bob Hendricks'
steady blue eyes had grown tired, and women who did not know, wondered
why such a pretty girl had broken so.

The Culpeppers had remained with the Barclays for dinner, and the hour
was late for the Ridge--after nine o'clock, and as the departing
guests went down the long curved walk of Barclay pride to the Barclay
gate, they saw a late April moon rising over t