Donald away. Elspie could not doubt why Donald came. Soon she would
wonder why he came and went so many times silent; that is, silent in
words, eloquent of eye and hand,--even the touch of his hand was like a
promise.

No one was defter and more successful in this handling of the flax over
the fire than Elspie. It had sometimes happened that she, with the help
of one brother, had dried the whole crop. It was not thought safe for
one person to work at it alone for fear of accident with the fire. But
it fell out on this October afternoon, a Saturday, that Elspie, feeling
sure of Donald's being on his way to spend the Sunday with her, had
walked down to the wharf to meet him. Seeing no signs of the boat, she
went back to the flax camp, lighted the fire, and began to spread the
flax on the slats. There was not much more left to be dried,--"not more
than three hours' work in all," she said to herself. "Eh, but I'd like
to have done with it before the Sabbath!" And she fell to work with a
will, so briskly to work that she did not realize how time was
flying,--did not, strangest of all, hear the letting off of steam when
the "Heather Bell" moored at the wharf; and she was still busily turning
and lifting and separating the stalks of flax, bending low over the
frame, heated, hurrying, her whole heart in her work, when Donald came
striding up the field from the wharf,--striding at his greatest pace,
for he was disturbed at not finding Elspie at the landing to meet him.
He turned his head toward the spruce grove, thinking vaguely of the June
picnic, and what had come of his walking away from the dance that
morning, when suddenly a great column of smoke and fire rolled up from
the grove, and in the same second came piercing shrieks in Elspie's
voice. The grove was only a few rods away, but it seemed to Donald an
eternity before he reached the spot, to see not only the spruce boughs
and flax on fire, but Elspie tossing up her arms like one crazed, her