Joan had always laughed--she was laughing now somewhere, looking
her gayest and forgetting troubling things.

Then Nancy cried, not bitterly or enviously, but because she was tired
of playing Joan's accompaniment!

Presently she got up and bathed.

"I'm going to Mary's!" she suddenly thought, and then felt as if she had
been getting ready to go all day. She felt deceitful, sly, in spite of
her constant reiteration that it had just occurred to her.

She left the house unseen; she hid behind a bush when she saw the hounds
raise their heads from the sunny porch--she wanted to go alone to the
cabin across the river.

It was three o'clock when she reached it, and she had hurried along the
short trail, too. Mary was not in sight, but the living-room door was
open and Nancy stood looking in with a baffling sense of unreality; the
place looked different; almost as if she had never seen it before. She
mentally took note of the furniture as though checking the pieces off.

The big bed, gay with patchwork quilts--Nancy knew all the patterns:
Sunrise on the Peaks; Drunkard's Path; the Rainbow--Mary was making up
for all that her forebears had neglected to do. Early and late she spun
and wrought--she piled her bed high with the results of her labours; she
covered the floor with marvellous rugs; she filled her chest of drawers
with linen--Nancy glanced at the chest and fancied that she smelt the
lavender that was spread on the folded treasures.

How the candlesticks shone; how sweet and clean it was, how safe!

Nancy stepped inside and sat down. The logs were laid ready for the
lighting on the cracked but dustless hearth.

And then, quite unconsciously, the girl began to croon an old song,
swaying back and forth, her arms folded and her eyes peaceful and
waiting.

Mary, returning from her garden planting, stood by the door, unnoticed,
and grimly took in the scene.

What it was that disturbed and angered her she could not have told, but
she could not see Nancy sitting so--and--and--looking as she looked!

Mary strode across the room, causing Nancy to start nervously.

"What ails yo'?" Mary asked, "you look powerful sorry."

"I'm--I'm frightened, Mary."

Oddly enough, it was easy to speak frankly to the stern, plain woman
across the hearth. And it was easy for Mary, after her first glance, to
be ready with anything that could comfort the girl near her.

"What frightened yo'--the storm? I thought 'bout you."

"Yes--