freedom and plenty, not carking care and poverty. He stole long
looks at the girl across the separating space that was so
helpless to separate,--feeding his starved heart upon her womanly
graces. Her quick, springing step was in harmony with the fire
and courage of her mien. There was a line or two in her
face,--small wonder; but an "unconquerable soul" shone in her
eyes; shone, too, in no uncertain way, but brightly and steadily,
expressing an unshaken joy in living. Valiant, splendid,
indomitable Waitstill! He could never tell her, alas! but how he
gloried in her!

It is needless to say that no woman could be the possessor of
such a love as Ivory Boynton's and not know of its existence.
Waitstill never heard a breath of it from Ivory's lips; even his
eyes were under control and confessed nothing; nor did his hand
ever clasp hers, to show by a tell-tale touch the truth he dared
not utter; nevertheless she felt that she was beloved. She hid
the knowledge deep in her heart and covered it softly from every
eye but her own; taking it out in the safe darkness sometimes to
wonder over and adore in secret. Did her love for Ivory rest
partly on a sense of vocation?--a profound, inarticulate divining
of his vast need of her? He was so strong, yet so weak because of
the yoke he bore, so bitterly alone in his desperate struggle
with life, that her heart melted like wax whenever she thought of
him. When she contemplated the hidden mutiny in her own heart,
she was awestruck sometimes at the almost divine patience of
Ivory's conduct as a son.

"How is your mother this summer, Ivory?" she asked as they sat
down on the meeting-house steps waiting for Jed Morrill to open