if she had been indoors more; but there was a pink flush in her
cheeks that made her look prettier than I had ever seen her. Her eyes
were bright as if with tears just trembling to fall, rather than with
the old glint of defiance or high spirits; but she smiled and laughed
more than ever I had seen her do. She acted as if she was in high
spirits, as I have seen even very quiet girls in the height of the fun
and frolic of a dance or sleigh-ride. When she was silent for a moment,
though, her mouth drooped as if in some sort of misery; and it was not
until our eyes met that the laughing expression came over her face, as
if she was gay only when she knew she was watched. She seemed
older--much older.

Somehow, all at once there came into my mind the memory of the woman
away back there in Buffalo, who had taken me, a sleepy, lonely,
neglected little boy, to her room, put me to bed, and been driven from
the fearful place in which she lived, because of it. I have finally
thought of the word to describe what I felt in both these
cases--desperation; desperation, and the feeling of pursuit and flight.
I did not even feel all this as I stood looking at Rowena, sitting on
her horse so prettily that summer day at my farm; I only felt puzzled
and a little pitiful for her--all the more, I guess, because of her nice
clothes and her side-saddle.

"Well, Mr. Vandemark," said she, finally, "I don't hear the perprietor
of the estate say anything about lighting and stayin' a while.' Help me
down, Jake!"

I swung her from the saddle and tied her horse. I stopped to put a
halter on him, unsaddle him, and give him hay. I wanted time to think;
but I do not remember that I had done much if any thinking when I got
back to the house, and found that she had taken off her long skirt and
was sitting on the little stoop in front of my door. She wore the old
apron, and as I came up to her, she spread it out with her hands to call
my attention to it.

"You see, Jake, I've come to work. Show me the morning's dishes, an'
I'll wash 'em. Or maybe you want bread baked? It wouldn't be breakin'
the Sabbath to mix up a bakin' for a poor ol' bach like you, would it?
I'm huntin' work. Show it to me."

I showed her how clean everything was, taking pride in my housekeeping;
and when she seemed not over-pleased with this, I had in all honesty to
tell her how much I was indebted to Mrs. Thorndyke for it.

"The preacher's wife?" she asked sharply. "An' that ado