t once. There is another squall
coming, and it will darken early."

As she rode homeward a doctor's phaeton passed her. It was being driven
rapidly, and a face peered out at her from beneath the hood. Then it
stopped and waited for her to approach.

"Do you belong at the 'Spite House'?"

"Yes; why?"

"Make haste. Drive on."

CHAPTER XV.

FACING HARD FACTS.

"Make haste. Drive on."

The words sang themselves into Amy's brain as she urged Balaam up the
slope, and for days thereafter they returned to her, the last vivid
memory of that happy time before bereavement came.

Then followed a season of confusion and distress; and now that a
fortnight was over she sat beside a freshly made mound in Quaker
burying-ground, trying to collect her thoughts and to form a definite
plan for her future.

The end of a gentle, beneficent life had come with merciful suddenness,
and the face of Salome Kaye was now hidden beneath this mound where her
child sat, struggling with her grief, and bravely endeavoring to find
the right way out of many difficulties. Finally, she seemed to have done
so, for she rose with an air of grave decision and kneeling for one
moment in that quiet spot, rose again, and passed swiftly from the
place.

Hallam was at the cemetery gate, resting sadly against the
lichen-covered stone post, and waiting for her return. Indian summer
had come, a last taste of warmth and brightness before the winter
closed, and despite their sorrow nature soothed them with her
loveliness. In any case, whether from that cause or from her own will,
the girl found it easier than she had expected to speak with her brother
upon their material affairs.

"Shall we stop here a little while, Hal dear, to talk, or will we go on
slowly toward home? I've been thinking, up--up there beside mother, and
I've found a way, I hope."

"I don't care where, though I'd rather not talk. What good does it do? I
hate it. I hate home. I hate this place worse--Oh, it's wicked! It's
cruel! Why did she ever have to leave Fairacres! She might be--"

Amy's hand went up to Hallam's lips. "Hush! Do you suppose God blunders?
I don't. If He had meant her to stay with us, He would have found a way
to cure her. To think otherwise is torture. No. No, no, indeed no!
Father is left and so are we. We have got to live and take care of him
and of ourselves."

"I should like to know how. I--a miserable good-for-naught, and you--a
girl."

"Exactly, th