ghter."

"I know--" he began, but Euphrasia interrupted.

"She sent that Englishman for the doctor, and waited to take the news to
her father, and she came out in this kitchen and talked to me."

Austen started. Euphrasia was not looking at him now, and suddenly she
dropped his arms and went to the window overlooking the garden.

"She wouldn't go in the parlour, but come right out here in her fine
clothes. I told her I didn't think she belonged in a kitchen--but I
guess I did her an injustice," said Euphrasia, slowly.

"I think you did," he said, and wondered.

"She looked at that garden," Euphrasia went on, "and cried out. I didn't
callate she was like that. And the first thing I knew I was talking
about your mother, and I'd forgot who I was talking to. She wahn't like
a stranger--it was just as if I'd known her always. I haven't understood
it yet. And after a while I told her about that verse, and she wanted to
see it--the verse about the skylark, you know--"

"Yes," said Austen.

"Well, the way she read it made me cry, it brought back Sarah Austen so.
Somehow, I can't account for it, she puts me in mind of your mother."

Austen did not speak.

"In more ways than one," said Euphrasia. "I didn't look to find her so
natural--and so gentle. And their she has a way of scolding you, just as
Sarah Austen had, that you'd never suspect."

"Did she scold you--Phrasie?" asked Austen. And the irresistible humour
that is so near to sorrow made him smile again.

"Indeed she did! And it surprised, me some--coming right out of a summer
sky. I told her what I thought about Hilary, and how he'd driven you out
of your own mother's house. She said you'd ought to be sent for, and I
said you oughtn't to set foot in this house until Hilary sent for you.
She said I'd no right to take such a revenge--that you'd come right
away if you knew Hilary'd had a stroke, and that Hilary'd never send
for you--because he couldn't. She said he was like a man on a desert
island."

"She was right," answered Austen.

"I don't know about that," said Euphrasia; "she hadn't put up with
Hilary for forty years, as I had, and seen what he'd done to your mother
and you. But that's what she said. And she went for you herself, when
she found the doctor couldn't go. Austen, ain't you going to see her?"

Austen shook his head gently, and smiled at her.

"I'm afraid it's no use, Phrasie," he said. "Just because she has
been--kind we mustn't be deceiv