this voice seemed
to come from a distance, and to have no connection either with his
thought or with his life. It was independent of his will, and while it
was speaking, he went on calmly thinking of Judy's children and of how
well and properly she would bring them up.

"I went over again to look at the steer to-day," he said, after a
moment. "There's a Jersey cow, too, I think of buying."

She nodded, pausing in her work, yet keeping her gaze fixed on the point
of her needle. If he had looked at her darning, he would have seen that
it was woven of exquisite and elaborate stitches--such stitches as went
into ecclesiastical embroideries in the Middle Ages.

"They're the best kind for butter," she observed, and carefully ran her
needle crosswise in and out of the threads.

Conversation was always desultory between them, and when it flagged, as
it did now, they could sit for hours in the composed and unembarrassed
silence of persons who meet upon the firm basis of mutual assistance
in practical matters. Their relation was founded upon the simple law of
racial continuance, which is as indifferent to the individual as it is
to the abstract, apotheosis of passion.

"I'm going to Applegate to-morrow to order a new mill-stone," he said
at last, when he rose. "Is there anything you would like me to get for
you?"

She reflected a moment. "I need a quarter of a yard of braid to finish
the green dress I am making. Could you match it?"

"I'll try if you'll give me a sample."

Laying her work aside for the first time, she hunted amid a number of
coloured spools in her basket, and brought to light a bit of silver
braid, which she handed to him.

"Was Mr. Mullen at your house to-day, Abel?" she asked suddenly, turning
her face from the lamp.

"Yes, he comes to see Blossom now, but she doesn't appear to care for
him. I thought she did once, didn't you?"

"Yes, I thought she did, but that was when he was in love with Molly,
wasn't it?"

For an instant he gazed at the bit of braid, as though his soul were
intent upon unravelling the intricate pattern.

"I wonder whether it is that we get a thing when we stop wanting it or
that we merely stop wanting it when we get it?" he demanded passionately
of fate.

But Judy had no mind for dubious philosophies. The thing she wanted she
knew she should never get and she knew as well that, in all likelihood,
she should never stop wanting it. Only a passionate soul in a
commonplace bo