her lashes wet I could only think of Niobe and a passion of tears. I
have rarely seen in a woman's face so much of the right kind of
sweetness. It was an exquisite vigor of sweetness, not in the least
the kind that cloys.

"They were much alike, save that the boy's face was angry and
rebellious. He was the younger of the two, seventeen or so, and would
have been in rags but for an unbelievable amount of mending.

"When I awoke, he had, I think, been urging his sister to go with him
and she had refused. Before I could even so much as make them aware of
my nearness, things came to a climax. The boy with a curse pushed her
away. The hurt in his heart perhaps had made him rough. But the girl
shrank away from him with a sob and ran back up the hill. He watched
her climb to a hill-farm near the river, with shame and agony in his
eyes, and I thought he would follow. Instead he plunged most
unexpectedly in my direction and finished his tragedy in comedy by
stumbling over me. We both scrambled to our feet a shade resentful.

"He realized instantly that I had overheard and blazed out at me in a
passion of temper. Running away had plainly given him an arrogant
conviction of manhood. Garry, old dear, I had to thrash him for the
good of his soul and my Irish temper--he was so offensively independent
and unjust.

"It was a pretty job of thrashing but it did him good. He threw
himself on the ground and sobbed like the kid he is. While he was
pulling himself together, I built up the fire and made him some coffee.

"The blaze of the fire worried him--he was afraid his sister would see