importance of her mission.

Christa sat with her elbows on the table and cried a little. Her fair
hair was curled low over her eyes, the coarse white dress hung limp but
soft, leaving her neck bare. With all her motions her head nodded on her
slender graceful neck, like a flower which bows on its stalk.

Before this disaster Christa had spent her life laughing; that had been
more becoming to her than sullenness and tears. For all that, Ann was
not sorry that Christa's eyelids should be red when David Brown was seen
slowly lounging toward the window.

He had not been to see them the day before; it was apparent from his air
that he thought it was not quite the respectable thing to do to-day. He
tried to approach the house with a _nonchalant_, happen-by-chance air,
so that if any one saw him they would suppose his stopping merely
accidental.

Ann poured out his beer. Christa looked at him with eyes full of
reproach. Then she got up and went away to the doorstep, and stood
looking out. To the surprise of both of them, David did not follow her
there. He stood still near Ann.

"It's hard on Christa," said Ann with a sigh; "she has been crying all
day. Every one will desert us now, and we shall have to live alone
without friends."

"Oh no" (abruptly); "nobody blames you."

"I don't mind for myself so much; I don't care so much about what people