bungled skirt and hideous waist had been made from an old army
overcoat. The little maid's brown eyes were sweet and seeking; they
seemed to petition for something. Amelia's heart did not respond; at
that time, she had no reason for thinking she was fond of children. Yet
she felt a curious disturbance at sight of the pair. She afterwards
explained it adequately to the man, by asserting that they looked as
odd as Dick's hatband.

"Want any farmwork done?" asked he. "Enough to pay for a night's
lodgin'?" His voice sounded strangely soft from one so large and
rugged. It hinted at unused possibilities. But though Amelia felt
impressed, she was conscious of little more than her own cold and
stiffness, and she answered sharply,--

"No, I don't. I don't calculate to hire, except in hayin' time, an'
then I don't take tramps."

The man dropped the child's hand, and pushed her gently to one side.

"Stan' there, Rosie," said he. Then he went forward, and drew the pail
from Amelia's unwilling grasp. "Where do you empt' it?" he asked.
"There? It ought to be carried further. You don't want to let it gully
down into that beet bed. Here, I'll see to it."

Perhaps this was the very first time in Amelia's life that a man had
offered her an unpaid service for chivalry alone. And somehow, though
she might have scoffed, knowing what the tramp had to gain, she
believed in him and in his kindliness. The little girl stood by, as if
she were long used to doing as she had been told, with no expectation
of difficult reasons; and the man, as soberly, went about his task. He