Neither mother nor daughter slept a great
deal during the night of Warwick's first visit.
Mis' Molly anointed her sacrifice with tears and
cried herself to sleep. Rena's emotions were more
conflicting; she was sorry to leave her mother, but
glad to go with her brother. The mere journey
she was about to make was a great event for the
two women to contemplate, to say nothing of the
golden vision that lay beyond, for neither of them
had ever been out of the town or its vicinity.

The next day was devoted to preparations for
the journey. Rena's slender wardrobe was made
ready and packed in a large valise. Towards sunset,
Mis' Molly took off her apron, put on her
slat-bonnet,--she was ever the pink of neatness,
--picked her way across the street, which was
muddy from a rain during the day, traversed the
foot-bridge that spanned the ditch in front of the
cooper shop, and spoke first to the elder of the two
men working there.

"Good-evenin', Peter."

"Good-evenin', ma'm," responded the man
briefly, and not relaxing at all the energy with
which he was trimming a barrel-stave.

Mis' Molly then accosted the younger workman,
a dark-brown young man, small in stature, but