ord of blame aloud. His welcome
is right here. And you'll admire the flowers. I don't half appreciate
them. Indeed, I've reason to be jealous of you, that I have."

"You are so good, Kathleen!"

It was two o'clock when Kathleen closed the bedroom door, leaving her
charge at length asleep. But she did not herself seek rest. Filling the
washtub, she plunged Hertha's white dress in the water and worked
furiously to obliterate the dark stains. When it was cleansed and
pressed, the torn places mended with her irregular stitches, the first
light of day had entered the windows and the flowers were turning to the
light. Tired, but with no desire to sleep, she set the table for
breakfast and then at last went into her room. There on the bed lay her
husband, resting quietly, utterly oblivious of all that had happened
beyond his bedroom wall. As she looked upon him a beautiful smile came
over her face. It was well, she thought, that some could sleep while the
eternal battle waged. Without them the world would be bare, ugly, bereft
of the fragrance of the flowers. Taking off her dress she lay down for a
few minutes beside him, not sleeping, thinking of plans for the day
before them, vigilant at her post in the darkness and in the light.

IV

THE LIVE-OAKS

CHAPTER XXXV

The afternoon sun shone obliquely through a window in the Williams'
cabin, striking the foot of a bed where it played upon the faded colors
of the patchwork spread, bringing out in sharp outline the rectangles of
calico with their once gay figures of blue and red and yellow. It moved
on from the bed across the rag-carpet to the washstand with its pitcher
and bowl, its crocheted mats of white cotton, to end its journey in the
somber wood of the cabin wall.

The rest of the room was in shadow, the dark face of the old woman lying
under the patchwork spread looking still darker against the white sheet.
It was an immovable face, with closed eyes and set lips; conveying no
sense of life save in the irregular breathing. The strong body that had
lived its years of active service, moving through this room on its
familiar tasks, was still, its heavy limbs stretched in rest.

Beyond the light, in the quiet of the shadow, Hertha sat in a low chair
by the bed. It had been her place since she reached home the day before.
Through the darkness and the light she had watched the still figure,
waiting and hoping for a look of recognition. But the heavy feat