had passed a livery team from town, driving fast out the west
road. There was a trunk on the front seat with the driver, and another
behind. In the back seat there was a woman all bundled up; but for all her
veils, he thought 't was Antonia Shimerda, or Antonia Donovan, as her name
ought now to be.

"The next morning I got brother to drive me over. I can walk still, but my
feet ain't what they used to be, and I try to save myself. The lines
outside the Shimerdas' house was full of washing, though it was the middle
of the week. As we got nearer I saw a sight that made my heart sink--all
those underclothes we'd put so much work on, out there swinging in the
wind. Yulka came bringing a dishpanful of wrung clothes, but she darted
back into the house like she was loath to see us. When I went in, Antonia
was standing over the tubs, just finishing up a big washing. Mrs. Shimerda
was going about her work, talking and scolding to herself. She did n't so
much as raise her eyes. Tony wiped her hand on her apron and held it out
to me, looking at me steady but mournful. When I took her in my arms she
drew away. 'Don't, Mrs. Steavens,' she says, 'you'll make me cry, and I
don't want to.'

"I whispered and asked her to come out of doors with me. I knew she could
n't talk free before her mother. She went out with me, bareheaded, and we
walked up toward the garden.

"'I'm not married, Mrs. Steavens,' she says to me very quiet and
natural-like, 'and I ought to be.'

"'Oh, my child,' says I, 'what's happened to you? Don't be afraid to tell
me!'

"She sat down on the draw-side, out of sight of the house. 'He's run away
from me,' she said. 'I don't know if he ever meant to marry me.'

"'You mean he's thrown up his job and quit the country?' says I.

"'He did n't have any job. He'd been fired; blacklisted for knocking down
fares. I did n't know. I thought he had n't been treated right. He was
sick when I got there. He'd just come out of the hospital. He lived with
me till my money gave out, and afterwards I found he had n't really been
hunting work at all. Then he just did n't come back. One nice fellow at
the station told me, when I kept going to look for him, to give it up. He
said he was afraid Larry'd gone bad and would n't come back any more. I
guess he's gone to Old Mexico. The conductors get rich down there,
collecting half-fares off the natives and robbing the company. He was
always talking about fellows who had got ahead that