her checked apron revealed the ungraceful lines of her figure.
She looked middle-aged and unshapely, when he wanted youth and an
exquisite loveliness. Well, he told himself, harshly, he was not
likely to get it. There was no sense in harboring such notions.
They must be crushed. He would work harder, much harder, hard
enough to forget them. There was but one thing worth while--his
farm. He would develop it to its limits.

Accordingly, when little Rose returned to Sharon, he and his
Rag-weed soon settled themselves to the old formula of endless
toil, investing the profits in sound farm mortgages that were
beginning to tax the capacity of his huge tin box in the vault of
the First State Bank.



V

DUST BEGETS DUST

YET, through the Wades' busy days the echo of little Rose's visit
lingered persistently. Each now anxiously wanted another child,
but both were careful to keep this longing locked in their
separate bosoms. Their constraint with each other was of far too
long a standing to permit of any sudden exchange of confidences.
It was with this hope half-acknowledged, however, and in her mind
the recent memories of a more approachable Martin, that Rose
began to make a greater effort with her appearance. By dint of
the most skillful maneuvering, she contrived to purchase herself
a silk dress--the first since her marriage. It was of dark blue