usual and without the old strength and alertness. He had sprung up to
help her just too late, but she had indignantly refused any assistance
with a half pettishness that was not a common mood with her.

"I don't see why Jane or Marilla, or whoever it was, put that heavy
log on at this time of the year," said Dr. Leslie, as if it were a
matter of solemn consequence. By this time he had lighted a fresh
cigar, and Nan had brought her little wooden chair from some corner of
the room where it had always lived since it came with her from the
farm. It was a dear old-fashioned little thing, but quite too small
for its owner, who had grown up tall and straight, but who had felt a
sudden longing to be a child again, as she quietly took her place
before the fire.

"That log?" she said, "I wonder if you will never learn that we must
not burn it? I saw Marilla myself when she climbed the highest
wood-pile at the farther end of the wood-house for it. I suppose all
the time I have been away you have been remorselessly burning up the
show logs. I don't wonder at her telling me this very morning that she
was born to suffer, and suffer she supposed she must. We never used to
be allowed to put papers in the fireplace, but you have gained ever so
many liberties. I wonder if Marilla really thinks she has had a hard
life?" the girl said, in a different tone.

"I wonder if you think yours is hard too?" asked the doctor.

And Nan did not know at first what to say. The bright light of the
burning papers and the pine-cone kindlings suddenly faded out and the
study seemed dark and strange by contrast; but the doctor did not
speak either; he only bent towards her presently, and put his hand on