him away. He went into the bedroom and
shut the door. She could hear him pulling off his boots on the bootjack.
Then he walked about a little in his stocking feet, and presently the
bed-cord squeaked, and she knew he was in bed. Later, she could hear his
heavy breathing. She sat there in the dark until she heard Wattie
whistling; then she got up and lit a candle and opened the door softly.
The boy came loping up the path.

"Mary France's got a beau!" he broke out, with a little snort of
ridicule.

His mother laid her hand on his arm.

"Wattie," she said, "I want you to go out to the barn and harness up old
Doll and the colt. I want you to go with me and Mary Frances over to
grandfather Hazlitt's."

The boy's mouth and eyes grew round.

"To-night?"

"Yes, right away. I don't want you to ask any questions, Wattie. Mother
never yet told you to do anything wrong. Just go out and get the team,
and be as quiet as you can."

The boy "hunched" his shoulders, and started with long, soft strides
toward the barn. His mother heard him begin to whistle again and then
stop abruptly. She stood on the step until she heard voices at the gate,
and Mary Frances came up the walk between the marigolds and zinnias and
stood in the square of light from the door. She met her mother with a
pink, bashful face.

"I want you to go upstairs, Mary Frances, and get your other cloak and
my blanket shawl. Wattie's gone to fetch the horses. You and him and
me's goin' over to grandfather Hazlitt's."

"To grandfather Hazlitt's this time o' night! Is anybody sick?"

"No, there's nobody sick. I don't want you should ask any questions,
Mary Frances. Just get on your things, and do as mother says; and don't
make any more noise than you can help."

The young girl went into the house, and came out presently with her
mother's shawl and bonnet. They could hear the wagon driving around to
the gate.

Matilda went into the kitchen and blew out the candle. Then she closed
the door quietly, and went down the walk with her daughter.

Matilda Randall was not at communion on the next Sabbath. She was "down
sick at her father's," the women said, and they thought it hard that she
should be absent when Alex joined the church.

"I don't doubt it's been quite a cross to her, the way he's held out,"
one of them remarked; "and it seems a pity she couldn't have been there
to partake with him the first time."

But the weary woman, lying so still in her old ro