married? Never seemed to have no notion of it. I can't
recollect of Jeff Miller's ever courting anybody. That's another
unnatural thing about him."

"I've always thought that Jeff thought himself a cut or two above the
rest of us," said Tom Scovel with a sneer. "Maybe he thinks the
Bayside girls ain't good enough for him."

"There ain't no such dirty pride about Jeff," pronounced Christopher
conclusively. "And the Millers _are_ the best family hereabouts,
leaving the kunnel's out. And Jeff's well off--nobody knows how well,
I reckon, but I can guess, being his land neighbour. Jeff ain't no
fool nor loafer, if he is a bit queer."

Meanwhile, the object of these remarks was striding homeward and
thinking, not of the men behind him, but of Sara Stuart. He must go to
her at once. He had not intruded on her since her father's death,
thinking her sorrow too great for him to meddle with. But this was
different. Perhaps she needed the advice or assistance only he could
give. To whom else in Bayside could she turn for it but to him, her
old friend? Was it possible that she must leave Pinehurst? The thought
struck cold dismay to his soul. How could he bear his life if she went
away?

He had loved Sara Stuart from childhood. He remembered vividly the day
he had first seen her--a spring day, much like this one had been; he,
a boy of eight, had gone with his father to the big, sunshiny hill
field and he had searched for birds' nests in the little fir copses
along the crest while his father plowed. He had so come upon her,
sitting on the fence under the pines at the back of Pinehurst--a child
of six in a dress of purple cloth. Her long, light brown curls fell
over her shoulders and rippled sleekly back from her calm little brow;
her eyes were large and greyish blue, straight-gazing and steadfast.
To the end of his life the boy was to carry in his heart the picture
she made there under the pines.

"Little boy," she had said, with a friendly smile, "will you show me
where the mayflowers grow?"

Shyly enough he had assented, and they set out together for the
barrens beyond the field, where the arbutus trailed its stars of
sweetness under the dusty dead grasses and withered leaves of the old
year. The boy was thrilled with delight. She was a fairy queen who
thus graciously smiled on him and chattered blithely as they searched
for mayflowers in the fresh spring sunshine. He thought it a
wonderful thing that it had so chanced. It