and seemed all brown; for her eyes were dark, and her skin had been
tanned to the deep, rich tint sweeter to some eyes than pure roses and
milk. Lucindy guided Buckskin up to the gate, and Molly McNeil looked
up and smiled without moving.

"How do?" she said, in a soft, slow voice. "Won't you come in?"

Lucindy was delighted. It was long since she had met a stranger.

"Well, I would," she answered, "but I don't know as I can get down.
This is new business to me."

"Ellen," called Mrs. McNeil, "you bring out somethin' to step on!"

A little girl appeared with a yellow kitchen chair. Mrs. McNeil rose,
carried it outside the gate, and planted it by Buckskin's side.

"There!" she said, "you put your hand on my shoulder and step down. It
won't tip. I've got my knee on it."

Lucindy alighted, with some difficulty, and drew a long breath.

"I'll hitch him," said Molly McNeil. "You go in and sit down in that
chair, and Ellen'll bring you a drink of water."

Ellen was barelegged and barefooted. Her brown hair hung over her dark
eyes in a pleasant tangle. Her even teeth were white, and her lips red.
There was no fault nor blemish in her little face; and when she had
brought the dipper full of water, and stood rubbing one foot against
its neighboring leg, Lucindy thought she had never seen anything so