net; then she added, experimentally, "Why tell Jonathan?"

"Why, Janet, you know better! I wouldn't miss telling Jonathan for
anything. What is Jonathan _for!_"

"Well--of course," she conceded. "Let's do dishes."

We sat before the fire that evening and I read while Janet knitted.
Between my eyes and the printed page there kept rising a vision--a vision
of black crust, with winking red embers smoldering along its broken edges.
I found it distracting in the extreme.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}

At some time unknown, out of the blind depths of the night, I was awakened
by a voice:--

"It's beginning to rain. I think I'll just go out and empty what's near
the house."

"Janet!" I murmured, "don't be absurd."

"But it will dilute all that sap."

"There isn't any sap to dilute. It won't be running at night." After a
while the voice, full of propitiatory intonations, resumed:--

"My dear, you don't mind if I slip out. It will only take a minute."

"I do mind. Go to sleep!"

Silence. Then:--

"It's raining harder. I hate to think of all that sap--"

"You don't _have_ to think!" I was quite savage. "Just go to sleep--and let
me!" Another silence. Then a fresh downpour. The voice was pleading:--

"_Please_ let me go! I'll be back in a minute. And it's not cold."

"Oh, well--I'm awake now, anyway. _I'll_ go." My voice was tinged with that
high resignation that is worse than anger. Janet's tone changed
instantly:--

"No, no! Don't! Please don't! I'm going. I truly don't mind."

"_I'm_ going. I don't mind, either, not at all."

"Oh, dear! Then let's not either of us go."

"That was my idea in the first place."

"Well, then, we won't. Go to sleep, and I will too."

"Not at all! I've decided to go."

"But it's stopped raining. Probably it won't rain any more."

"Then what are you making all this fuss for?"

"I didn't make a fuss. I just thought I could slip out--"

"Well, you couldn't. And it's raining very hard again. And I'm going."

"Oh, don't! You'll get drenched."

"Of course. But I can't bear to have all that sap diluted."

"It doesn't run at night. You said it didn't."

"You said it did."

"But I don't really know. You know best."

"Why didn't you think of that sooner? Anyway, I'm going."

"Oh, dear! You make me feel as if I'd stirred you up--"

"You have," I interrupted, sweetly. "I won't deny that you _have_ stirred
me up. But now that you have mentioned it"--I felt for a match--"now that