"

Jessamine shook her head. "We always get ours from Mr. Bell. This is
his day to come."

"Well, I guess you won't see Mr. Bell for a spell. He fell off a loft
out at his place yesterday and broke his leg. I'm his nephew, and I'm
going to fill his place till he gets 'round again."

"Oh, I'm so sorry--for Mr. Bell, I mean. Have you any green peas?"

"Yes, heaps of them. I'll bring them in. Anything else?"

"Not today," said Jessamine, with a wistful glance at the honeysuckle.

Mr. Bell, junior, saw it. In an instant the honeysuckle was unpinned
and handed to her. "If you like posies, you're welcome to this. I
guess you're fond of flowers," he added, as he noted the flash of
delight that passed over her pale face.

"Yes, indeed; they put me so in mind of home--of the country. Oh, how
sweet this is!"

"You're country-bred, then? Been in the city long?"

"Since last fall. I was born and brought up in the country. I wish I
was back. I can't get over being homesick. This honeysuckle seems to
bring it right back. We had honeysuckles around our porch at home."

"You don't like the city, then?"

"Oh, no. I sometimes feel as if I should smother here. I shall never
feel at home, I am afraid."

"Where did you live before you came here?"

"Up at Middleton. It was an old-fashioned place, but pretty--our house
was covered with vines, and there were trees all about it, and great
green fields beyond. But I don't know what makes me tell you this. I
forgot I was talking to a stranger."

"Pretty little woman," soliloquized Andrew Bell, as he drove away.
"She doesn't look happy, though. I suppose she's married some city
chap and has to live in town. I guess it don't agree with her. Her
eyes had a real hungry look in them over that honeysuckle. She seemed
near about crying when she talked of the country."

Jessamine felt more like crying than ever when she went back to her
work. Her head ached and she was very tired. The tiny kitchen was hot
and stifling. How she longed for the great, roomy kitchen in her old
home, with its spotless floors and floods of sunshine streaming in
through the maples outside. There was room to live and breathe there,
and from the door one looked out over green wind-rippled meadows,
under a glorious arch of pure blue sky, away to the purple hills in
the distance.

* * * * *

Jessamine Stacy had always lived in the country. When her sister died
and the old home ha