dam
Burn's big oat-bin!"

As they passed through the gateless entrance to "Bareacre," Hallam
turned, and with something of Amy's cheerfulness waved his hand to
Cleena.

"We'll be back before dark, Goodsoul. Don't keep that lad tied any
longer. Don't."

"Arrah musha! Can't I do what I will with me own? There's somewhat to
pass 'twixt him an' me afore he gets free o' them bonds."

Evidently, there was; nor was she sorry to see all go and leave her
alone with Fayette. Of what occurred during their brief absence at the
Clove, nobody ever heard; but when the brother and sister rode up the
slope, just as the evening fell, Fayette appeared to meet them and take
their burros for them. His manner was subdued and gentle, and on his
homely face was a look of exceeding peace.

Amy nudged Hallam mischievously. "Another lull before another storm,
isn't it?"

Hallam regarded the half-wit critically. "No. But I think he's 'met his
Waterloo.'"

"Oh, is that what we are to call her in future? She's already as many
names as a Spanish princess." Then she lifted her voice to summon
Cleena.

"Heigho, 'Waterloo'! Father and mother are doing finely, and send love,
and dear old Adam sent something much more substantial, but not what you
asked for. Just plain beefsteak and potatoes, and a jolly chicken pie
that's in a basket on Hallam's crutch. Those crutches are the handiest
things!"

"Faith, so they be. An' there's a fire out of some wood the cottage
woman sent, an' the steak'll broil while the taties roast, like the
whisk of a squirrel in the tree."

So "Waterloo" became another of good Cleena's "love names." For it's
ever the tone and not the words that makes a sweet sound in one's ears,
and the woman's heart thrilled, and her weary shoulders lifted because
of the love which sang through Amy's innocent jest.

CHAPTER X.

HOME-MAKING.

For one whole week the artist and his wife remained at the Clove. During
that time "Spite House" had undergone the most thorough cleaning and
overhauling of its existence. The walls had been scraped of the ancient
and discolored whitewash that covered them, and a fresh coat of
sweet-smelling lime applied.

"It's like a new-mown field, I think," said Amy, on the day that this
whitewashing had taken place, to Fayette who was artisan in
chief--always under Cleena's orders.

"An' I must be the daisy that grows in it," he returned, catching a
glimpse of his lime-splashed face in the ti