g that she knew just exactly what was to happen by reason of
what had already happened, settled the outlines of this future in her
dreaming, over and over again, without a single ray of light to break
through the darkness of her picture. She would spend it here at the
Farm, this strangely quiet Farm; more than ever "a household of women,"
without Timothy running in and out every day. And some day she would be
old and grey like Miss Eliza, busy farming it herself, and wearing
plain black dresses and scolding the servants when they did not do just
as she wanted. It was a blank future that contained no Timothy. But
Arethusa could not very well put Timothy into the future when he
refused to be in the present. She would always live alone, she decided,
and when she was quite old she would wear a locket like Miss Asenath's,
and people would speak of her as having had a Romance; for she had
_had_ a Romance, and it had ended very sadly. But she would not wear
Mr. Bennet's picture in her locket; he was not worthy of that. Perhaps
she might wear Timothy's. She had a splendid picture of Timothy which
would look very well in a Locket. There were times when, comparing
them, Arethusa was quite of the opinion that Timothy was far handsomer
than Mr. Bennet. And even if he did go off and marry some one else, he
could surely have no objection to her honoring his picture so. His
grandfather had not minded Miss Asenath's ownership of his miniature,
and he had married some one else, because she had loved him when he was
young. Arethusa had always loved Timothy; she loved him now. If Timothy
would only stop to think long enough, he would remember the hundreds of
times she had told him he was the best friend she had ever had.

Timothy had found, besides his farmer's duties, another way to occupy
himself this spring. It was an automobile of very recent acquisition, a
long, dark, grey car of beauty. And nearly every night he raced past
the front gate of the Farm in it, while Arethusa stood under the shadow
of the clematis vine on the front porch and listened for the first low
hum of its motor which carried so far ahead of it through the sleeping
country, and watched to see its light come flashing up the Pike,
drawing back hastily under the vine when it was close to the gate.
Timothy had stopped once or twice and asked them all to ride, but he
had never asked Arethusa alone. And since he did not ask her by
herself, she was too proud to hop in besi