Poor Katie! if she had but known she threw away her last chance when she
did it. She reasoned that Donald was in Charlottetown far more than he
was anywhere else; that if she stayed at home on the farm she could see
him only by glimpses, when the "Heather Bell" ran in at their
landing,--in and out and off again in an hour. What was that? And maybe
a Sunday once or twice a year, and at a Christmas gathering. No wonder
Katie thought that in the town where his business lay and he slept
three nights a week she would have a far better chance; that he would be
glad to come and see her in her tidy little shop. But when Donald heard
what she had done, he said gruffly: "Just like the rest; all for ribbons
and laces and silly gear. I thought Katie'd more sense. Why didn't she
stay at home on the farm?" And he said as much to her when he first saw
her in her new quarters. She tried to explain to him that she wanted to
support herself, and she could not do it on the farm.

"No need,--no need," said her relentless cousin; "there was plenty for
all on the farm." And all the while he stood glowering at the counter
spread with gay ribbons and artificial flowers, and Katie was ready to
cry. This was in the first year of her life in Charlottetown. She was
only twenty-two then. In the eight years since then matters had quieted
down with Katie. It seemed certain that Donald would never marry.
Everybody said so. And if a man had lived till forty without it, what
else could be expected? If Katie had seen him seeking other women, her
quiet and unrewarded devotion would no doubt have flamed up in jealous
pain. But she knew that he gave to her as much as he gave to
any,--occasional and kindly courtesy, no less, no more.

So the years slipped by, and in her patient industry Katie forgot how
old she was growing, until suddenly, on her thirtieth birthday,
something--the sight of a deepened line on her face, perhaps, or a pang