t well in the end."

"Have you?" asked the woman, earnestly.

"Yes. It all came about through such a little thing--merely an unjust
accusation."

"The little things are the ones that ruin lives," she said. "Will you
let me tell you something of myself? You have been so kind to us, my
dear, that I feel you ought to know."

"I shall be glad to know whatever you care to tell me," said Beth,
simply.

"I am the wife of a poor farmer," began the woman, speaking softly and
with some hesitation, but gaining strength as she proceeded. "As a girl
I was considered attractive, and my father was a man of great wealth and
social standing. We lived in Baltimore. Then I fell in love with a young
man who, after obtaining my promise to marry him, found some one he
loved better and carelessly discarded me. As I have said, I have a
sensitive nature. In my girlhood I was especially susceptible to any
slight, and this young man's heartless action made it impossible for me
to remain at home and face the humiliation he had thrust upon me. My
father was a hard man, and demanded that I marry the man he had himself
chosen; but I resented this command and ran away. My mother had passed
on long before, and there was nothing to keep me at home. I came west
and secured a position to teach school in this county, and for a time I
was quite contented and succeeded in living down my disappointment. I
heard but once from my father. He had married again and disinherited me.
He forbade me to ever communicate with him again.

"At that time Will Rogers was one of the most promising and manly of the
country lads around here. He was desperately in love with me, and at
this period, when I seemed completely cut off from my old life and the
future contained no promise, I thought it best to wear out the remainder
of my existence in the seclusion of a farm-house. I put all the past
behind me, and told Will Rogers I would marry him and be a faithful
wife; but that my heart was dead. He accepted me on that condition, and
it was not until after we were married some time that my husband
realized how impossible it would ever be to arouse my affection. Then he
lost courage, and became careless and reckless. When our child came--our
Lucy--Will was devoted to her, and the baby wakened in me all the old
passionate capacity to love. Lucy drew Will and me a little closer
together, but he never recovered his youthful ambition. He was a
disappointed man, and went from bad