a word. She hid her shamed face, her childlike
face, so full of timid remorse, on his shoulder, and he felt her sobs
shaking her breast. He led her to a chair inside the cabin and gently
eased her down to it, his fingers, filially hungry for the first time in
his life, gently and consolingly playing about her hair and brow.

Presently she found her voice. "I was afraid you'd never come," she
faltered, still with that shrinking humility which had so completely won
him to her. "But here you are. Oh, I don't know what to say, John-- I
don't know what to say, except that I am not the same silly woman I
used to be. I used to think that the way I lived when you was here was
the only way I could live, but now I'd rather die than take back a
single day of it. Strange as it may seem, I like this. I like the still
woods out there, the rocks, grass, and wild flowers, and being alone.
Yes, I like to be all alone. When I'm all alone, even in the dead of
night, something seems to come to me and pity me and give me the
sweetest rest and peace. There wasn't but one thing that haunted me, and
that was thinking you were dead. When I heard that was a mistake I felt
very happy, though I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

It seemed to him, as he sat in that crude hut, that nothing stranger had
ever happened to him than seeing her in such surroundings.

"Is it possible," he asked, "that you spend the nights here in this
place?"

"For six years now, winter and summer." She smiled wistfully. "I've got
my little garden behind the cabin, and my chickens and my cats, and they
keep me busy. Then I read a lot of books and stories. The Cavanaughs
send them to me off and on, and--and"--she started visibly--"some other
people do, too."

"Other people?" he repeated to himself. "Then she _has_ friends, after
all."

Presently a patter of feet sounded outside and a child's voice came in
at the open door. "Grandmother Trott! Where are you?"

"Here, here!" Mrs. Trott called out in a flurried tone. She made a start
as if to rise, and yet it seemed to John that she had lost the power to
move. Then a little boy appeared at the door, two tin pails in his
hands. "Here's the milk, grandmother, and some fresh butter. Mother said
keep the pie and biscuits warm. She just took them from the stove
before I started. Grandmother, sister wants to see the kittens. May
she?"

"Yes, yes, of course." Mrs. Trott, still agitated, got up. Little Tilly
was now in