"Come," she said a moment after more cheerfully, "we must go
in and see how cosy and sociable we can make ourselves alone.
We must practise," -- for next winter, she was going to say,
but something warned her to stop. Winthrop turned away his
face, though he answered manfully.

"Yes mother -- I must just go over to the bank field and see
what Sam Doolittle has been at; and I've got to cut some wood;
then I'll be in."

"Will you be back by sundown?"

"I'll not be long after."

The mother gave a look towards the sun, already very near the
high western horizon, and another after Winthrop who was
moving off at a good pace; and then slowly walked back to the
house, one hand clasping its fellow in significant expression.

Karen was sitting in her clean kitchen with little Winifred on
her knees, and singing to her in a very sweet Methodist tune,


"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow know.
Blest seats! -- through rude and stormy seas,
I onward press to you."


The mother stooped to take up the child.