ill uncomfortable, cramped, neuralgic, and
cold,--so undressed and went to bed and to sleep, very much as she would
have done if there had been no Halcombe Dike in the world. Sharley was
not used to lying awake, and Nature would not be cheated out of her
rights in such a round, young, healthful little body.

But that did not make her much the happier when she woke in the cold
gray of the dawn to listen for the early train. It was very cold and
very gray, not time for the train yet, but she could not bear to lie
still and hear the shrill, gay concert of the birds, to watch the day
begin, and think how many days must have beginning,--so she crept
faintly up and out into the chill. She wandered about for a time in the
raw, brightening air. The frost lay crisp upon the short grass; the
elder-bushes were festooned with tiny white tassels; the maple-leaves
hung fretted with silver; the tangle of apple-trees and spruces was
powdered and pearled. She stole into it, as she had stolen into it in
the happy sunset-time so long ago--why! was it only day before
yesterday?--stole in and laid her cheek up against the shining, wet
vines, which melted warm beneath her touch, and shut her eyes. She
thought how she would like to shut and hide herself away in a place
where she could never see the frescoed frost or brightening day, nor
hear the sound of chirping birds, nor any happy thing.

By and by she heard the train coming, and footsteps. He came springing
by in his strong, man's way as he had come before. As before, he passed
near--how very near!--to the quivering white face crushed up against the
vine-leaves, and went his way and knew nothing.

The train panted and raced away, shrieked a little in a doleful,
breathless fashion, grew small, grew less, grew dim, died from sight in
pallid smoke. The track stood up on its mound of frozen bank, blank and
mute, like a corpse from which the soul had fled.

Sharley came into the kitchen at six o'clock. The fire was burning hotly
under the boiler. The soiled clothes lay scattered about. Her mother
stood over the tubs, red-faced and worried, complaining that Sharley had
not come to help her. She turned, when the girl opened the door, to
scold her a little. The best of mothers are apt to scold on Monday
morning.

Sharley stood still a moment and looked around. She must begin it with a
washing-day then, this other life that had come to her. Her heart might
break; but the baby's aprons must be