lence. The Slogans ate with their habitual zest, but the
little bent widow only munched a piece of bread and daintily sipped her
cup of buttermilk.

Presently they heard the rasping sound of Sally's door as it was drawn
open, and then they saw her go through the passage and step down into
the yard. Rising quickly, Mrs. Dawson went to the door and looked out.
She descried her daughter making her way hastily towards the gate.

"Sally!" cried out the old woman, her thin voice cracking on its too
high key, "Sally, wait thar fer me! Stop, I say!"

The girl turned and waited for her mother to approach through the
half-darkness, her face averted towards the road.

"Sally, whar have you started?"

The girl did not move as she answered:

"Nowhere, mother; I--"

The old woman put out her bony hand and laid it on the girl's arm.
"Sally, you are not a-tellin' me the truth. You are a-goin' to try to
see John Westerfelt."

"Well, what if I am, mother?"

"I don't believe I'd go, darlin'. I'd be above lettin' any triflin'
man know I was that bad off--I railly would try to have a little more
pride."

Sally Dawson turned her head, and her eyes bore down desperately on the
small face before her.

"Mother," she said, "you don't know what you'd do if you was in my
place."

"I reckon not, darlin', but--"

"Mother, I'll die if I don't know the truth. Once he told me if I ever
heard one word against him to come to him with it, and I said I would.
Maybe Aunt Clarissa is right about Lizzie an' him, but I've got to get
it straight from him. He went to town to-day, and always drives along
the road about this time."

"Then I'll go out thar with you, Sally, if you will do sech a thing."

"No, you won't, mother. Nobody has any right to hear what I've got to
say to him."

The old woman raised the corner of her gingham apron to her eyes as if
some inward emotion had prompted tears, but the fountains of grief were
dry.

"Oh, Sally," she whimpered, "I'm so miserable! I'll never forgive yore
aunt fer devilin' you so much, right now when you are troubled. I'll
tell you what me 'n' you'll do; we'll git us a house an' move away from
'er."

"I don't care what she says--if it's true," replied Sally. "If--if
John Westerfelt has fooled me, I wouldn't care if it was printed in
every paper in the State. If he don't love me, I won't care for
nothin'. Mother, you know he made me think he loved--wanted me, at
least--that was all