helpers at the Vicarage Bazaar to throw
anxious glances towards the gathering clouds, and Herrick, who was a
fair weather-prophet, foresaw a storm before sunset.

As he threw his leg over the stile leading into the last meadow, he
paused suddenly.

Approaching him was Owen Rose's wife; and something in her mode of
progress struck him as peculiar. She was coming along at a sort of fast
walk, breaking now and then into a few running steps, stumbling
occasionally and even stopping dead for a second before resuming her
hurrying advance.

Her eyes were downcast; and she was quite close to him before she
realized his presence. When she did look up he saw that she was crying,
openly, sobbingly, as a child cries, the tears running in little
channels over her cheeks and dropping unheeded where they would.

Even when she saw that she was not alone, Toni could not check those
treacherous tears; and something told Herrick that she was craving for
sympathy, that here was no sophisticated woman of the world, to whom the
encounter would spell annoyance, but a forlorn and solitary child crying
out its heart over some real or fancied tribulation, to whom a kindly
word, a friendly greeting would bring only comfort.

He jumped off the stile and approached her, hat in hand.

"Mrs. Rose? You're in trouble over something? Will you tell me what's
wrong--perhaps I can help you somehow?"

To his relief he saw that his impression had been correct. She turned to
him desperately, like a child seeking consolation.

"Mr. Herrick"--she sobbed out the words--"I'm so miserable--I don't know
what to do!"

"Come, that's bad!" He spoke kindly. "Well, suppose you rest here a
moment and dry your eyes?"

She fumbled blindly in the front of her gown and then gave up the search
with a childish wail.

"I've not got a handkerchief--I've lost it somewhere!"

"Never mind, I have one." He drew out a large silk square as yet
unfolded, and pressed it into her hand. "There, use that--and then we'll
have a talk."

She dried her eyes obediently, though fresh tears threatened to make her
obedience futile; and then, still clinging to his handkerchief, she
leaned against the stile and tried to regain her self-control.

"Well?" His tone, with its gentle sympathy, was balm to poor Toni's sore
heart. "Come, little lady, what's the trouble? Let's see if we can't
find a way out of it together."

She turned her eyes on him as he spoke, and he was almost start