"You make me afraid," said Em. "Come, let us go, and I will fill your
pail."

"I want no milk. Good-bye! You will not see me again till Saturday."

Late that night, when every one else had gone to bed, the yellow-haired
little woman stood alone in the kitchen. She had come to fill the kettle
for the next morning's coffee, and now stood before the fire. The warm
reflection lit the grave old-womanish little face, that was so unusually
thoughtful this evening.

"Better than all the world; better than everything; he loves me better than
everything!" She said the words aloud, as if they were more easy to
believe if she spoke them so. She had given out so much love in her little
life, and had got none of it back with interest. Now one said, "I love you
better than all the world." One loved her better than she loved him. How
suddenly rich she was. She kept clasping and unclasping her hands. So a
beggar feels who falls asleep on the pavement wet and hungry, and who wakes
in a palace-hall with servants and lights, and a feast before him. Of
course the beggar's is only a dream, and he wakes from it; and this was
real.

Gregory had said to her, "I will love you as long as I live." She said the
words over and over to herself like a song.

"I will send for him tomorrow, and I will tell him how I love him back,"
she said.

But Em needed not to send for him. Gregory discovered on reaching home