u don't look out!" for
the wind was strong, and it blew against the figure; but it did not move
nor make reply. The Andover farmer looked over his shoulder with the
sudden recollection of a ghost-story which he had charged his
grandchildren not to believe last week, cracked his whip, and rumbled
on.

Asenath began to understand by and by that she was cold, so climbed the
bank, made her way over the windy flats, the railroad, and the western
bridge confusedly with an idea of going home. She turned aside by the
toll-gate. The keeper came out to see what she was doing, but she kept
out of his sight behind the great willow and his little blue house,--the
blue house with the green blinds and red moulding. The dam thundered
that night, the wind and the water being high. She made her way up above
it, and looked in. She had never seen it so black and smooth there. As
she listened to the roar, she remembered something that she had
read--was it in the Bible or the Ledger?--about seven thunders uttering
their voices.

"He's sorry for her, and all that," they said.

A dead bough shot down the current while she stood there, went over and
down, and out of sight, throwing up its little branches like helpless
hands.

It fell in with a thought of Asenath's, perhaps; at any rate she did
not like the looks of it, and went home.

Over the bridge, and the canal, and the lighted streets, the falls
called after her: "He's sorry for her, and all that." The curtain was
drawn aside when she came home, and she saw her father through the
window, sitting alone, with his gray head bent.

It occurred to her that she had often left him alone,--poor old father!
It occurred to her, also, that she understood now what it was to be
alone. Had she forgotten him in these two comforted, companioned years?

She came in weakly, and looked about.

"Dick's in, and gone to bed," said the old man, answering her look.
"You're tired, Senath."

"I am tired, father."

She sunk upon the floor,--the heat of the room made her a little
faint,--and laid her head upon his knee; oddly enough, she noticed that
the patch on it had given way,--wondered how many days it had been
so,--whether he had felt ragged and neglected while she was busy about
that blue neck-tie for Dick. She put her hand up and smoothed the
corners of the rent.

"You shall be mended up to-morrow, poor father!"

He smiled, pleased like a child to be remembered. She looked up at
him,--at his