ring in the bag," she said, with the authority of one
accustomed to much service. "I found he had very little left to eat. We
have to bring him things secretly, and he pretends the Lord feeds him as
He fed the prophet."

She reentered the hut, and Nicholas, stepping lightly in the fear that
his weight might hasten the fall of the logs, deposited the bag upon a
pine table, where an ash cake lay ready for the embers. In a little
cupboard he saw the contents of Eugenia's basket--a cold fried chicken
and some coffee and sugar. Before the hearth there was a comfortable
rocking chair, and a bright coloured quilt was upon the bed. As he
turned away the girl spoke swiftly:

"It _was_ good of you," she said.

"Good of me?" He met her approbation almost haughtily; then he
impulsively added: "I always liked Uncle Ish--and he reminds me of old
times."

She turned frankly to him. In the noble poise of her head she had seemed
strangely far off; now she appeared to stoop.

"Of our old times?"

Her cordial eyes arrested him.

"Of yours and mine," he answered. "Do you remember the hare traps he
set for us and the straw mats he taught us to plait? Once you said you
had stolen a watermelon to save Jake a whipping, and he found you
out--do you remember?"

He pressed the recollections upon her eagerly, almost violently.

Eugenia shook her head, half laughing.

"No, no," she said; "but I remember you carried me home once when I had
hurt my foot, and you jumped into the ice pond to save my kitten, and--"

"You shared your lunch with me at school," he broke in.

"And you dug me a little garden all yourself--"

"And you bought me a Jew's harp on my birthday--"

"And you always left half the eggs in a bird's nest because I begged you
to--"

"And you were an out and out angel," he concluded triumphantly.

"An angel, black-haired and a tomboy?"

He assented. "A little tyrannical angel with a temper."

Her confessions multiplied.

"I scratched your face once."

"Yes."

"I got mad and smashed your best hawk's egg."

"You did."

"I threw your fishing line into the brook when you wouldn't let me
fish."

"I have never seen it since."

"I was horrid and mean."

"Such were your angelic characteristics."

She thoughtfully swung the basket on her arm, her white sleeve
fluttering above her wrist. Her head, with its wave, from the clear
brow, of dead-black hair, was bent frankly towards him.

"It has been so long since