have recognized as Euphrasia's; as though her
thoughts of him were the errant ones of odd moments! "I'm so glad you
come. It's lonesome here of evenings, Austen."

He entered silently and sat down beside her, in a Windsor chair which had
belonged to some remote Austen of bygone days.

"You don't have as good things to eat up at Mis' Jenney's as I give you,"
she remarked. "Not that you appear to care much for eatables any more.
Austen, are you feeling poorly?"

"I can dig more potatoes in a day than any other man in Ripton," he
declared.

"You'd ought to get married," said Euphrasia, abruptly. "I've told you
that before, but you never seem to pay any attention to what I say."

"Why haven't you tried it, Phrasie?" he retorted.

He was not prepared for what followed. Euphrasia did not answer at once,
but presently her knitting dropped to her lap, and she sat staring at the
old clock on the kitchen shelf.

"He never asked me," she said, simply.

Austen was silent. The answer seemed to recall, with infinite pathos,
Euphrasia's long-lost youth, and he had not thought of youth as a quality
which could ever have pertained to her. She must have been young once,
and fresh, and full of hope for herself; she must have known, long ago,
something of what he now felt, something of the joy and pain, something
of the inexpressible, never ceasing yearning for the fulfilment of a
desire that dwarfed all others. Euphrasia had been denied that
fulfilment. And he--would he, too, be denied it?

Out of Euphrasia's eyes, as she gazed at the mantel-shelf, shone the
light of undying fires within--fires which at a touch could blaze forth
after endless years, transforming the wrinkled face, softening the
sterner lines of character. And suddenly there was a new bond between the
two. So used are the young to the acceptance of the sacrifice of the old
that they lose sight of that sacrifice. But Austen saw now, in a flash,
the years of Euphrasia's self-denial, the years of memories, the years of
regrets for that which might have been.

"Phrasie," he said, laying a hand on hers, which rested on the arm of the
chair, I was only joking, you know."

"I know, I know," Euphrasia answered hastily, and turned and looked into
his face searchingly. Her eyes were undimmed, and the light was still in
them which revealed a soul of which he had had no previous knowledge.

"I know you was, dear. I never told that to a living being except your
mother. He