with a cut on your head?"

He drew away her hand, and the wound, indeed, was no great affair, but
he bound it up deftly with strips of his handkerchief. Dorothy's wet
curls touched his fingers and clung to them, and her eyelashes drooped
lower and lower.

"I think it was _very_ stupid of thee. Didn't thee hear us from the
dam? I'm sure we made noise enough."

"Yes, I heard you when it was too late. I heard the sheep before, but
how could I imagine that _you_, Dorothy, and three boys, as big as
cockerels, were sheep-washing? It's the most preposterous thing I ever
heard of!"

"Well, I can't help being a woman, and the sheep had to be washed. I
think there ought to be more men in the world when half of them are
preaching and fighting."

"If you'd only let the men who are left help you a little, Dorothy!"

"I don't want any help. I only _don't_ want to be washed into the
mill-head."

They both laughed, and Evesham began again entreating her to let him
take her to the house.

"Hasn't thee a coat or something I could put around me until Shep
comes?" said Dorothy. "He must be here soon."

"Yes, I've got a jacket here somewhere."

He sped away to find it, and faithless Dorothy, as the willows closed
between them, sprang to her feet and fled like a startled Naiad to the
house.

When Evesham, pushing through the willows, saw nothing but the bed of
wet, crushed ferns and the trail through the long grass where Dorothy's
feet had fled, he smiled grimly to himself, remembering that
"ewe-lambs" are not always as meek as they look.

That evening Rachel had received a letter from Friend Barton, and was
preparing to read it aloud to the children. They were in the kitchen,
where the boys had been helping Dorothy, in a desultory manner, to
shell corn for the chickens; but now all was silence, while Rachel
wiped her glasses and turned the large sheet of paper, squared with
many foldings, to the candle.

She read the date, "London Grove, 5th month, 22nd.--Most affectionately
beloved." "He means us all," said Rachel, turning to the children with
a tender smile. "It's spelled with a small b."

"He means thee!" said Dorothy, laughing. "Thee's not such a very big
beloved."

There was a moment's silence. "I don't know that the opening of the
letter is of general interest," Rachel mused, with her eyes travelling
slowly down the page. "He says: 'In regard to my health, lest thee
should concern thyself, I am thankful to say I h