atties to peel, an' greens to
cleanse, an' apples to chop for sauce, an' the hoarders no nearer away
than the granary loft, with a gatherin' 'pon your second toe an' the
half o' 'em rotten when you get there. The pore I be in! Why, Miss
Ruby, you'm streamin'-leakin'!"

"I'm wet through, Mary Jane; an' I don't care if I die." Ruby sank on
the settle, and fairly broke down.

"Hush 'ee now, co!"

"I don't, I don't, an' I don't! I'm tired o' the world, an' my heart's
broke. Mary Jane, you selfish thing, you've never asked about my banns,
no more'n the rest; an' after that cast-off frock, too, that I gave you
last week so good as new!"

"Was it very grand, Miss Ruby? Was it shuddery an' yet joyful--
lily-white an' yet rosy-red--hot an' yet cold--'don't lift me so high,'
an' yet 'praise God, I'm exalted above women'?"

"'Twas all and yet none. 'Twas a voice speakin' my name, sweet an'
terrible, an' I longed for it to go on an' on; and then came the Gauger
stunnin' and shoutin' 'Wreck! wreck!' like a trumpet, an' the church was
full o' wind, an' the folk ran this way an' that, like sheep, an' left
me sittin' there. I'll--I'll die an old maid, I will, if only to
s--spite such ma--ma--manners!"

"Aw, pore dear! But there's better tricks than dyin' unwed. Bind up my
finger, Miss Ruby, an' listen. You shall play Don't Care, an' change
your frock, an' we'll step down to th' cove after dinner an' there be
heartless and fancy-free. Lord! when the dance strikes up, to see you
carryin' off the other maids' danglers an' treating your own man like
dirt!"

Ruby stood up, the water still running off her frock upon the slates,
her moist eyes resting beyond the window on the midden-heap across the
yard, as if she saw there the picture Mary Jane conjured up.

"No. I won't join their low frolic; an' you ought to be above it.
I'll pull my curtains an' sit up-stairs all day, an' you shall read to
me."

The other pulled a wry face. This was not her idea of enjoyment.
She went back to the goose sad at heart, for Miss Ruby had a knack of
enforcing her wishes.

Sure enough, soon after dinner was cleared away (a meal through which
Ruby had sulked and Farmer Tresidder eaten heartily, talking with a full
mouth about the rescue, and coarsely ignoring what he called his
daughter's "faddles"), the two girls retired to the chamber up-stairs;
where the mistress was as good as her word, and pulled the dimity
curtains before settling