delicate, pale girl with a sweet complexion, and slender hands that were
ever trembling upon fine work for her own adornment. She had known Alida
at school and at home, in dull times and bright, and she had a vision,
when her name was mentioned, of something as frail as cobwebs, with all
their beauty. Whenever Newell Bond had begun to sound the praises of his
chosen maid, she had set her mind seriously to considering what he could
see in Alida. But it was never of any use. Alida always remained to her
impalpable and vain. Now she answered patiently, according to her
wont:--

"Of course she's made that way."

It was like a touch to keep the machinery going, and he responded:--

"You see, I hadn't asked her to set the day. It was kind of understood
between us. An' then Clayton Rand come along an' begun to shine up to
her, spendin' money like water, an' her mother was bewitched by it. So
she orders Alida to throw me over an' take up with t'other man. I don't
know 's Alida's to blame."

"Do you s'pose they're engaged?" asked Dorcas, for the hundredth time.

He was silent for a moment, brooding. Then he answered, as he always
did:--

"That's more'n I can make out. But if they are, I'll break it. Give me
time enough, an' I'll do it when they're walkin' into the meetin'-house,
if I don't afore."

Dorcas felt old and tired. All her buoyant life seemed to settle to a
level where she must foster the youth of others and starve her own.

"Well," she said gently, "you've done pretty well this year, sellin'
house-lots an' all."

"I've done well this year an' I'm goin' to keep on," said Newell, in
that dogged way he had. Often it heartened her, but never when it
touched upon his weary chase. Then it seemed to her like some rushing
force that should be used to turn a mill, wandering away into poor
meadows, to be dried and lost. But he was ending as he always did:
"Clayton Rand won't marry so long 's his mother's alive, no matter how
much money he's got. An' while Alida's waitin' for him, I'll lay up what
I can, an' I bet you I get her yet."

"You goin' to pick peas in the mornin'?" asked Dorcas.

She had heard the clock striking, and it counseled her to remember how
early their days began.

Newell came out of his dream. "Yes," he said, "that patch down the river
road. I guess we can get off ten bushels or more by the afternoon
train."

"All right," said Dorcas. "I'll be there."

"You mustn't walk down. I'm goin' t'oth