edly to the door.

"Tristram Dalton; what _are_ you up here for, away from your own
home?" she exclaimed.

Tristram vouchsafed no explanation of his appearance, but his demeanor
spoke louder than words to Amanda's guilty conscience, as he walked
in.

"No shelter for me but the shed these days!" he seemed to say.
"Instead of well-served meals, a cup of milk set here or there!"

He made the circuit of the kitchen discontentedly and finding nothing
to his taste went into the adjoining room, and after walking over the
full length of Caleb's prostrate form curled himself up in a hollow at
the foot of the bed.

"I've neglected him!" thought Amanda; "but his turn'll come again soon
enough," and she bent her eyes on the gruel.

The blue bowl sat in the pan of hot water on the stove, and she
stirred and stirred, slowly, regularly, continuously, in order that
the arrowroot should be of a velvety smoothness.

The days were drawing in, and the October sun was setting very yellow,
sending a flood of light over her head and shoulders. She wore her
afternoon dress of alpaca, with a worked muslin collar and cuffs and a
white apron tied round her trim waist. She was one of your wholesome
shining women and her bright brown hair glistened like satin.

Caleb's black eyes looked yearningly at her as she stood there all
unconscious, doing one of her innumerable neighborly kindnesses for
him.

She made a picture of sweet, strong, steady womanliness, although she
did not know it. Caleb knew something extraordinary was going on
inside of him, but under what impulse he was too puzzled and
inexperienced to say.

"Amanda."

Amanda turned sharply at the sound of his voice as she was lifting the
steaming arrowroot out of the water.

"Whose cat is this?"

"Mine.--Come off that bed, Tristram!"

"Don't disturb him; I like to have him there.--Where's Abby
Thatcher?"

"She's gone home on an errand; she'll be back in fifteen minutes
now."

"Where's William?"

"It's only five o'clock. He don't come till six. What can I get for
you? Have you had a good sleep?"

She set the gruel on the back of the stove and went in to his
bedside.

"I don't sleep much; I just lie an' think ... Amanda, ... now, they're
all away, ... if I get over this spell, ... an' take a year to
straighten up an' get hold o' things like other folks, ... do you
think ... you'd risk ... marryin' me?"

There was a moment's dead silence; then Amanda said, turning