of George Fox, the
miller's fine horse; and, holding the reins over its back, Oliver
Sands, the miller himself. So close he drove to the big wagon that
George Fox's nose touched Littlejohn's leader, and the boy pulled back
a little.

"Huh! That's old Oliver in his First Day grays! But he's in the
grumps. Guess the Spirit hasn't moved him to anything pleasant, by the
look," he remarked to Dorothy beside him.

"He does look as if he were in trouble. I don't like him. I never did.
He wasn't--well, nice to Father John once. But I'm sorry he's unhappy.
Nobody ought to be on such a heavenly day."

If Oliver saw those watching beside the gate he made no sign. His fat
shoulders, commonly so erect, were bowed as if he had suddenly grown
old. His face had lost its unctuous smile and was haggard with care;
and for once he paid no heed to George Fox's un-Quakerlike gambols,
fraught with danger to the open buggy he drew. A pale-faced woman in
the orthodox attire of the birthright Friends sat beside the miller
and clung to him in evident terror at the horse's behavior. It was she
who saw how close the contact between their own and the Deerhurst
team, and her eye fell anxiously upon the two girlish figures upon the
front seat of the wagon. For a girl the unknown Luna seemed, clad in
the scarlet frock and hat that Dorothy had given; while Dolly,
herself, clasping the little creature close lest she should be
frightened looked even younger than she was.

"Sisters," thought Dorcas Sands, "yet not alike." Then casting a
second, critical glance upon Luna she uttered a strange cry and
clutched her husband's arm.

"Dorcas, thee is too old for foolishness," was all the heed he paid to
her gesture, and drove stolidly on, unseeing aught but his own inward
perturbation which had found no solace in that morning's Meeting.

Dorcas looked back once over her shoulder and Dorothy returned a
friendly smile to the sweet old face in the white-lined gray bonnet.
Then the bonnet faced about again and George Fox whisked its wearer
out of sight.

"I declare I'd love to be a Quakeress and wear such clothes as these
women do. They look so sweet and peaceful and happy. As if nothing
ever troubled them. Don't you think they're lovely, Littlejohn?"

"Huh! I don't know. That there Mrs. Sands--Dorcas Sands is the way
she's called 'cause the Friends don't give nobody titles--I guess
there ain't a more unhappy woman on our mountain than her."

"Why, Litt