"Happy thought!" exclaimed Roger. "Still, you might not always want me.
How shall I know?"

"I'll put a candle in the front window," suggested Barbara, "and if you
can come, all right. If not, I'll understand."

Both laughed delightedly at the idea, for they were young enough to find
a certain pleasure in clandestine ways and means. Miss Mattie had so far
determinedly set her face against her son's association with the young
of the other sex, and even Barbara, who had been born lame and had never
walked farther than her own garden, came under the ban.

Ambrose North, with the keen and unconscious selfishness of age,
begrudged others even an hour of Barbara's society. He felt a third
person always as an intruder, though he tried his best to appear
hospitable when anyone came. Miriam might sometimes have read to
Barbara, while he was out upon his long, lonely walks, but it had never
occurred to either of them.

[Sidenote: World-wide Fellowship]

Through Laurence Austin's library, as transported back and forth by
Roger, one volume at a time, Barbara had come into the world-wide
fellowship of those who love books. She was closely housed and
constantly at work, but her mind soared free. When the poverty and
ugliness of her surroundings oppressed her beauty-loving soul; when her
fingers ached and the stitches blurred into mist before her eyes, some
little brown book, much worn, had often given her the key to the House
of Content.