ng to chronicle them in a
friendly ear. "If I ban't full woman, who is? Yet I'm treated like a
baaby, as if I'd got no 'pinions an' feelings, and wasn't--wasn't auld
enough to knaw what love meant."

Grimbal's eyes glowed at the picture of the girl's indignation, and he
longed to put his arms round her and comfort her.

"You must be wise and dutiful, Phoebe," he said. "Will Blauchard's a
plucky fellow to go off and face the world. And perhaps he'll be one of
the lucky ones, like I was."

"He will be, for certain, and so you'd say if you knawed him same as I
do. But the cruel waitin'--years and years and years--'t is enough to
break a body's heart."

Her voice fluttered like bells in a wild wind; she trembled on the brink
of tears; and he saw by little convulsive movements and the lump in her
round throat that she could not yet regard her lot with patience. She
brought out her pocket-handkerchief again, and the man noticed it was
all wet and rolled into a ball.

"Life's a blank thing at lovers' parting," he said; "but time rubs the
rough edges off matters that fret our minds the worst. Days and nights,
and plenty of 'em, are the best cure for all ills."

"An' the best cure for life tu! The awnly cure. Think of years an' years
without him. Yesterday us met up in Pixies' Parlour yonder, an' I was
peart an' proud as need be; to-day he's gone, and I feel auld and wisht
and all full of weary wonder how I'm gwaine to fare and if I'llever see
him again. 'T is cruel--bitter cruel for me."

That she could thus pity herself so soon argued a mind incapable of
harbouring great sorrow for many years; and the man at her side, without
appreciating this fact, yet, by a sort of intuition, suspected that
Phoebe's grief, perhaps even her steadfastness of purpose, would suffer
diminution before very great lapse of time. Without knowing why, he
hoped it might be so. Her voice fell melodiously upon an ear long tuned
to the whine of native women. It came from the lungs, was full and
sweet, with a shy suddenness about it, like the cooing of wood doves.
She half slipped at a stile, and he put out his hand and touched her
waist and felt his heart throb. But Phoebe's eyes rarely met her new
friend's. The girl looked with troubled brows ahead into the future,
while she walked beside him; and he, upon her left hand, saw only the
soft cheek, the pouting lips, and the dimples that came and went.
Sometimes she looked up, however, and Grimbal no