usted all my
life!"

And then the poor girl broke out into passionate weeping with her head
upon his shoulder, as she might have leant upon the handy trunk of a
tree, or on the nearest door or window, as John Tatham said in his
heart. He soothed her as best he could, and put her in a chair and stood
with his hand upon the back of it, looking down upon her as the fit of
crying wore itself out. Poor little girl! he had seen her cry often
enough before. A girl cries for anything, for a thorn in her finger,
for a twist of her foot. He had seen her cry and laugh, and dash the
tears out of her eyes on such occasions, oh! often and often: there was
that time when he rushed out of the bushes unexpectedly and frightened
her pony, and she fell among the grass and vowed, sobbing and laughing,
it was her fault! and once when she was a little tot, not old enough for
boy's play, when she fell upon her little nose and cut it and disfigured
herself, and held up that wounded little knob of a feature to have it
kissed and made well. Oh, why did he think of that now! the little thing
all trust and simple confidence! There was that time too when she jumped
up to get a gun and shoot the tramps who had hurt somebody, if John
would but give her his hand! These things came rushing into his mind as
he stood watching Elinor cry, with his hand upon the back of her chair.

She wanted John's hand now when she was going forth to far greater
dangers. Oh, poor little Nelly! poor little thing! but he could not put
her on his shoulder and carry her out to face the foe now.

She jumped up suddenly while he was thinking, with the tears still wet
upon her cheeks, but the paroxysm mastered, and the light of her eyes
coming out doubly bright like the sun from the clouds. "We poor women,"
she said with a laugh, "are so badly off, we are so handicapped, as you
call it! We can't help crying like fools! We can't help caring for what
other people think, trying to conciliate and bring them round to approve
us--when we ought to stand by our own conscience and judgment, and sense
of what is right, like independent beings."

"If that means taking your own way, Elinor, whatever any one may say to
you, I think women do it at least as much as men."

"No, it does not mean taking our own way," she cried, "and if you do not
understand any better than that, why should I---- But you do understand
better, John," she said, her countenance again softening: "you know I
want