irreproachable order, she found herself, at four o'clock, without
occupation. The temptation in the attic wrestled strongly with
her, but she would not go.

It seemed an age until six o'clock. "This won't do," she said to
herself; "I'll have to learn how to sew, or crochet, or make
tatting. At last, I am to be domesticated. I used to wonder how
women had time for the endless fancy work, but I see, now."

She was accustomed to self analysis and introspection, and began
to consider what she could get out of the next six months in the
way of gain. Physical strength, certainly, but what else? The
prospect was gloomy just then.

"It's goin' to rain, Miss Thorne," said Hepsey, at the door. "Is
all the winders shut?"

"Yes, I think so," she answered.

"Supper's ready any time you want it."

"Very well, I will come now."

When she sat down in the parlour, after doing scant justice to
Hepsey's cooking, it was with a grim resignation, of the Puritan
sort which, supposedly, went with the house. There was but one
place in all the world where she would like to be, and she was
afraid to trust herself in the attic.

By an elaborate mental process, she convinced herself that the