Sadie crossed over to
the window to get a look at Lizzie's new beau.

Sadie Crane was now sixteen years old, and being undersized and childish
of appearance had never had the pleasure of the company of a young man.
The yearning in her pettish face as she stood unevenly on the discarded
harness, looking out of the window toward John Hunter, caught Elizabeth's
attention and illuminated the whole affair to the older girl.

"Dude!" Sadie exclaimed spitefully, facing about and evidently offering
insult.

But Elizabeth Farnshaw had seen the unsatisfied look which preceded the
remark and it was excused. Sadie was just Sadie, and not to be taken
seriously.

"He'd better soak his head; he can't farm."

No one replied, and Elizabeth said hurried good-byes and escaped.

But though Sadie Crane was undersized and spoke scornfully, she was old
enough to feel a woman's desires and dream a woman's dreams. She watched
the pair drive away together in pleasant converse on the quilt-lined
spring seat of the farm wagon, and swallowed a sob.

"Lizzie always had th' best of everything," she reflected.

The roads were slippery and gave an excuse for driving slowly, and the
young man exerted himself to be agreeable. The distaste for the presence
of the Cranes at her home when he came for her, his possible opinion of
her family and friends, the prolonged struggle with her father, even the
headache from which she had not been free for days, melted out of
Elizabeth's mind in the joy of that ride, and left it a perfect
experience. It began to rain before they were halfway to their
destination, and they sat shoulder to shoulder under the umbrella, with
one of the quilts drawn around both. There was a sack of butterscotch, and
they talked of Scott, and Dickens, and the other books Elizabeth Farnshaw
had absorbed from Aunt Susan's old-fashioned library; and Elizabeth was
surprised to find that she had read almost as much as this college man,
and still more surprised to find that she remembered a great deal more of
what she had read than he seemed to do. She asked many questions about his
college experiences and learned that he had lacked but a year and a half
of graduation.

"Why didn't you finish?" she asked curiously.

"Well, you know, father died, and I didn't have hardly enough to finish
on, so I thought I'd come out here and get to making something. I didn't
care to finish. I'd had my fun out of it. I wish I hadn't gone at all. If
I'd