ont of her tiny house, the late morning sun
warm about her; one hand supported a book, slanted carefully to avoid
the light, the other held the crank of a barrel-churn. As she read,
she turned steadily, the monotonous _chug!_ _chug!_ of the tumbling
cream drowning all other sounds.

Suddenly the shadow of a horse passed her and a rough livery buggy
stopped at her side. She looked up. Instinctively her hand dropped the
crank, and her face turned white; then equally involuntarily she
returned to her work, and the _chug!_ _chug!_ continued.

"Does Ichabod Maurice," drawling emphasis on the name, "live here?"
asked a voice.

"He does." Camilla's chin was trembling; her answer halted abruptly.

The man looked down at her, genuine amusement depicted upon his face.

"Won't you please stop your work for a moment, Camilla?"

With the name, one hand made swift movement of deprecation. "Pardon if
I mistake, but I take it you're Camilla Maurice?"

"Yes, I'm Camilla Maurice."

"Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old chums together in
college--all that sort of thing; consequently I've always wanted to
meet--"

The woman stood up. Her face still was very white, but her chin did
not tremble now.

"Let's stop this farce," she insisted. "What is it you wish?"

The man in the buggy again made a motion of deprecation.

"I was just about to say, that happening to be in town, and
incidentally hearing the name, I wondered if it were possible.... But,
pardon, I haven't introduced myself. Allow me--" and he bowed
elaborately. "Arnold, Asa Arnold.... You've heard Ichabod mention my
name, perhaps?"

The woman held up her hand.

"Again I ask, what do you wish?"

"Since you insist, first of all I'd like to speak a moment with
Ichabod." His face changed suddenly. "For Heaven's sake, Eleanor, if
he must alter his name, why did he choose such a barbaric substitute
as Ichabod?"

"Were he here"--evenly--"he'd doubtless explain that himself."

"He's not here, then?" No banter in the voice now.

"Never fear"--quickly--"he'll return."

A moment they looked into each other's eyes; challengingly, as they
had looked unnumbered times before.

"As you suggest, Eleanor," said the man, slowly, "this farce has gone
far enough. Where may I tie this horse? I wish to speak with you."

Camilla pointed to a post, and silently went toward the house. Soon
the man followed her, stopping a moment to take a final puff at his
cigar before throw