mustn't expect me to think about Barden. You look just
pretty 'nough to eat!"

V.

A week later Eben began grubbing out the vineyard. The weather turned
suddenly warm, and the harvest was coming on rapidly. Parker Lowe had
gone to Temecula with Mose Doolittle, who was about to purchase a
machine, presumably feminine, which they both referred to familiarly as
"she," and styled more formally "a second-hand steam-thrasher." It was
Monday, and Idy was putting the week's washing through the wringer with
a loud vocal accompaniment of gospel hymn.

Eben had worked steadily since sunrise. The vines were young, and the
ground was not heavy, but the day was warm, and he wielded the mattock
rapidly, stooping now and then to jerk out a refractory root with his
hands. An hour before noon his daughter saw him coming through the
apricot orchard, walking wearily, with his soiled handkerchief pressed
to his lips. The girl's voice lost its song abruptly, and then broke out
again in a low, faltering wail. She bounded across the warm plowed
ground to his side.

"Pappy! O pappy!" she cried, breathing wildly, "what is it? Tell me,
can't you, pappy?"

The little man smiled at her with his patient eyes, and shook his head.
She put her hand under his elbow, and walked beside him, her arm across
his shoulders, her tortured young face close to his. When they reached
the kitchen door he sank down on the edge of the platform, resting his
head on his hand. The girl took off his weather-beaten hat, and
smoothed the wet hair from his forehead.

"O pappy! Poor, little, sweet old pappy!" she moaned, rubbing her cheek
caressingly on his bowed head.

Eben took the handkerchief from his lips, and she started back, crying
out piteously as she saw it stained with blood. He looked up at her, a
gentle, tremulous smile twitching his beard.

"Don't--tell--your--maw," he said, putting out his hand feebly.

The words seemed to recall her. She went hurriedly into the house and
close to the lounge where her mother was lying.

"Maw," she said quickly, "you must get up! Pappy's got a hem'ridge. I
want you to help me to get 'im to bed, an' then I'm goin' fer a doctor."

The woman got up, and followed her daughter eagerly.

"Why, Eben!" she said, when they reached the kitchen door. Her voice was
almost womanly; and a real anxiety seemed to have penetrated her
hysterical egoism.

They got him to bed tenderly, and propped him up among the white
pillows