emptied the cistern, and cleansed it, with plentiful washings. Then, as
if guessing by instinct what he should find, he went into the kitchen,
where were two tubs full of the water which Amelia had pumped up at the
start. It had to be carried back again to the cistern; and when the job
was quite finished, he opened the bulkhead, set the tubs in the cellar,
and then, covering the cistern and cellar-case, rubbed his cold hands
on his trousers, and turned to the child.

"Come, Rosie," said he, "we'll be goin'."

It was a very effective finale, but still Amelia suspected no trickery.
The situation seemed to her, just as the two new actors did, entirely
simple, like the course of nature. Only, the day was a little warmer
because they had appeared. She had a new sensation of welcome company.
So it was that, quite to her own surprise, she answered as quickly as
he spoke, and her reply also seemed an inevitable part of the drama:--

"Walk right in. It's 'most dinner-time, an' I'll put on the pot." The
two stepped in before her, and they did not go away.

Amelia herself never quite knew how it happened; but, like all the
other natural things of life, this had no need to be explained. At
first, there were excellent reasons for delay. The man, whose name
proved to be Enoch Willis, was a marvelous hand at a blow, and she kept
him a week, splitting some pine knots that defied her and the boy who
ordinarily chopped her wood. At the end of the week, Amelia confessed
that she was "terrible tired seein' Rosie round in that gormin' kind of
a dress;" so she cut and fitted her a neat little gown from her own red
cashmere. That was the second reason. Then the neighbors heard of the
mysterious guest, and dropped in, to place and label him. At first,