n't it, that fall
you stopped here?); but she sent out for all the child'n she could get
and learnt 'em their manners. She can see right out into the kitchen
from where she is, an' she has 'em make their bows an' take their
steps till they get 'em right an' feel as good as anybody. There's
boys an' girls comin' an' goin' two or three times a week in the
afternoon. It don't seem to be no hardship: there ain't no such good
company for young or old as Nancy."

"She'll be dreadful glad to see you," the proud father ended his
praises. "Oh, she's never forgot that good time she had up to Boston.
You an' all your folks couldn't have treated her no better, an' you
give her her heart's desire, you did so! She's never done talkin'
about that pretty dancin'-school with all them lovely little child'n,
an' everybody so elegant and pretty behaved. She'd always wanted to
see such a lady as your aunt was. I don't know but she's right: she
always maintains that when folks has good manners an' good hearts the
world is their 'n, an' she was goin' to do everything she could to
keep young folks from feelin' hoggish an' left out."

Tom walked out toward the farm in the bright moonlight with Mr. Gale,
and promised to call as early the next day as possible. They followed
the old shore path, with the sea on one side and the pointed firs on
the other, and parted where Nancy's light could be seen twinkling on
the hill.

IV.

It was not very cheerful to look forward to seeing a friend of one's
youth crippled and disabled; beside, Tom Aldis always felt a nervous
dread in being where people were ill and suffering. He thought once or
twice how little compassion for Nancy these country neighbors
expressed. Even her father seemed inclined to boast of her, rather
than to pity the poor life that was so hindered. Business affairs and
conference were appointed for that afternoon, so that by the middle of
the morning he found himself walking up the yard to the Gales' side
door.

There was nobody within call. Mr. Aldis tapped once or twice, and then
hearing a voice he went through the narrow unpainted entry into the
old kitchen, a brown, comfortable place which he well remembered.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you," Nancy was calling from her little
bedroom beyond. "Come in, come in!"

He passed the doorway, and stood with his hand on hers, which lay
helpless on the blue-and-white coverlet. Nancy's young eyes, untouched
by years or pain or regret, loo