hate the mill. I hate to work. I'd rather be taken care of,--a sight
rather. I feel bad enough about it to cry."

Two tears rolled over her cheeks, and fell on the soft plaid shawl. Del
wiped them away carefully with her rounded fingers.

Asenath turned and looked at this Del Ivory long and steadily through
the dusk. The pretty, shallow thing! The worthless, bewildering thing!

A fierce contempt for her pink-and-white, and tears and eyelashes and
attitudes, came upon her; then a sudden sickening jealousy that turned
her faint where she sat.

What did God mean,--Asenath believed in God, having so little else to
believe in,--what did he mean, when he had blessed the girl all her
happy life with such wealth of beauty, by filling her careless hands
with this one best, last gift? Why, the child could not hold such golden
love! She would throw it away by and by. What a waste it was!

Not that she had these words for her thought, but she had the thought
distinctly through her dizzy pain.

"So there's nothing to do about it," said Del, pinning her shawl. "We
can't have anything to say to each other,--unless anybody should die, or
anything; and of course I'm not wicked enough to think of _that._--Sene!
Sene! what are you doing?"

Sene had risen slowly, stood upon the log, caught at an aspen-top, and
swung out with it its whole length above the water. The slight tree
writhed and quivered about the roots. Sene looked down and moved her
marred lips without sound.

Del screamed and wrung her hands. It was an ugly sight!

"O don't, Sene, _don't!_ You'll drown yourself! you will be drowned! you
will be--O, what a start you gave me! What _were_ you doing, Senath
Martyn?"

Sene swung slowly back, and sat down.

"Amusing myself a little;--well, unless somebody died, you said? But I
believe I won't talk any more to-night. My head aches. Go home, Del."

Del muttered a weak protest at leaving her there alone; but, with her
bright face clouded and uncomfortable, went.

Asenath turned her head to listen for the last rustle of her dress, then
folded her arms, and, with her eyes upon the sluggish current, sat
still.

An hour and a half later, an Andover farmer, driving home across the
bridge, observed on the river's edge--a shadow cut within a shadow--the
outline of a woman's figure, sitting perfectly still with folded arms.
He reined up and looked down; but it sat quite still.

"Hallo there!" he called; "you'll fall in if yo