ending! She did not really want anything to happen;
the quiet days were the happiest, after all. He strode on before her,
turning once in a while, to learn if she were following.

"That's right; walk slow," he shouted in a conciliatory voice.

By the wayside, near the fence opposite the gate he was to enter, there
grew a dense clump of blackberry vines; as the gate swung behind him, she
ran towards the fence, and, while he stood with his back towards her in
the path talking excitedly to a little boy who had come to meet him, she
squeezed herself in between the vines and the fence, bending her head and
gathering the skirt of her dress in both hands.

He became angry as he talked, vociferating and gesticulating; every
instant she the more congratulated herself upon her escape; some of the
girls were afraid of him, but she had always been too sorry for him to be
much afraid; still, she would prefer to hide and keep hidden half the
night rather than be compelled to walk a long, lonely mile with him. Her
father or mother had always been within the sound of her voice when he
had talked with her; she had never before had to be a protection to
herself. Peering through the leaves, she watched him, as he turned again
towards the gate, with her heart beating altogether too rapidly for
comfort: he opened the gate, strode out to the road and stood looking
back.

He stood a long, long time, uttering no exclamation, then hurried on,
leaving a half-frightened and very thankful little girl trembling among
the leaves of the blackberry vines. But, would he keep looking back? And
how could she ever pass the next house? Might he not stop there and be
somewhere on the watch for her? If some one would pass by, or some
carriage would only drive along! The houses were closer together a mile
further on, but how dared she pass that mile? He would not hurt her, he
would only look at her out of his wild eyes and talk to her. Answering
Captain Rheid's questions was better than this! Staying at her
grandfather's and confessing about the pitcher was better than this!

Suddenly--or had she heard it before, a whistle burst out upon the air, a
sweet and clear succession of notes, the air of a familiar song: "Be it
ever so humble, there's no place like home."

Some one was at hand, she sprang through the vines, the briers catching
the old blue muslin, extricating herself in time to run almost against
the navy-blue figure that she had not yet become f