over his shoulder; Ardea and her
cousin were returning down the foot-path. Wherefore he made haste,
meaning not to be caught again, if he could help it. But the fates were
against him. Longfellow, snatched ruthlessly from his half-emptied oat
box, made equine protest, yawing and veering and earning himself a
savage cut of the whip before he consented to place the buggy at the
stone mounting-step.

"Quick!" said Tom, flinging the reins on the dashboard. "Chuck your
bundle under the seat and climb in!"

But Nan was provokingly slow, and when she tried to get in with the
bundle still in her arms, the buggy hood was in the way. Tom had to help
her, was in the act of lifting her to the step, when the wicket latch,
clicked and Ardea and Miss Euphrasia came out. They passed on without
comment, but Tom could feel the electric shock of righteous scorn
through the back of his head. That was why he drove half-way to the
lower end of the pike before he turned on Nan to say:

"What's in that bundle you're so careful of? Why don't you put it under
the seat?"

She looked around at him, and dark as it was, he saw that the great
black eyes were shining with a strange light--strange to him.

"I reckon you wouldn't want me to do that, Tom-Jeff," she answered
simply. "Hit's my baby--my little Tom."

He was struck dumb. It often happens that in the fiercest storm of
gossip the one most nearly concerned goes his way without so much as
suspecting that the sun is hidden. But Tom had not been exposed to the
violence of the storm. Nan's shame was old, and the gossip tongues had
wagged themselves weary two years before, when the child was born. So
Tom was quite free to think only of his companion. A great anger rose
and swelled in his heart. What scoundrel had taken advantage of an
ignorance so profound as to be the blood sister of innocence? He would
have given much to know; and yet the true delicacy of a manly soul made
him hold his peace.

Thus it befell that they drove in silence to the deserted cabin on the
hillside; and Tom went down to the foundry office and brought a lamp for
light. The cabin was a mere shelter; but when he would have made
excuses, Nan stopped him.

"Hit's as good as I been usen to, as you know mighty well, Tom-Jeff. I
on'y wisht--"

He was on his knees at the hearth, kindling a fire, and he looked up to
see why she did not finish. She was sitting on the edge of the old
watchman's rude bed, bowed low over the