erous heart gave way, and trembled in terror. The air of perfect
equality he maintained between them, his attitude of intimacy,
flattering, almost affectionate, this it was which she felt she must not
recognize.

The beloved books, which had seemed so many steps upon which to climb to
a world where she dared acknowledge her own liking and admiration for
Stoddard, were now laid aside. It took all of her heart and mind and
time to visit Uncle Pros at the hospital, keep the children out of Pap's
way in the house, and do justice to her work in the factory. She told
Gray, haltingly, reluctantly, that she thought she must give up the
reading and studying for a time.

"Not for long, I hope," Stoddard received her decision with a puzzled
air, turning in his fingers the copy of "Walden" which she was bringing
back to him. "Perhaps now that you have your mother and the children
with you, there will be less time for this sort of thing for a while,
but you haven't a mind that can enjoy being inactive. You may think
you'll give it up; but study--once you've tasted it--will never let
you alone."

Johnnie looked up at him with a weak and pitiful version of her usual
beaming smile.

"I reckon you're right," she hesitated finally, in a very low voice.
"But sometimes I think the less we know the happier we are."

"How's this? How's this?" cried Stoddard, almost startled. "Why,
Johnnie--I never expected to hear that sort of thing from you. I thought
your optimism was as deep as a well, and as wide as a church."

Poor Johnnie surely had need of such optimism as Stoddard had ascribed
to her. They were weary evenings when she came home now, with the
November rain blowing in the streets and the early-falling dusk almost
upon her. It was on a Saturday night, and she had been to the hospital,
when she got in to find Mandy, seated in the darkest corner of the
sitting room, with a red flannel cloth around her neck--a sure sign that
something unfortunate had occurred, since the tall woman always had sore
throat when trouble loomed large.

"What's the matter?" asked Johnnie, coming close and laying a hand on
the bent shoulder to peer into the drooping countenance.

"Don't come too nigh me--you'll ketch it," warned Mandy gloomily. "A so'
th'oat is as ketchin' as smallpox, and I know it so to be, though they
is them that say it ain't. When mine gits like this I jest tie it up and
keep away from folks best I can. I hain't dared touch the baby