I saw you," she said suddenly, "and when I
last saw you, you were horrid, not I."

He flushed quickly.

"I was a brute," he admitted.

"And you hurt me so, I cried all night."

"Not because you cared?" he asked breathlessly.

"Of course not--because I didn't care a--a rap. I cried for the fun of
it."

He was sufficiently abashed.

"If I had known--" he began, and stopped.

"You might have known!" she flashed out.

He was at a disadvantage, which he admitted by a blank regard.

"But things were desperate then, and--"

"So were you."

"Not as desperate as I might have been."

In her equable unconsciousness she threw off the meaning of his retort.

"But I like desperateness."

She had crossed the threshold and stood now in the ambient glow, gazing
across the quiet pasture, where a stray sheep bleated. She reached up
and broke a bunch of red leaves from the oak, fastening them in her belt
as they descended the narrow path.

In the road they came upon Uncle Ish, who was hobbling slowly towards
them. He was wrinkled with age and bent with rheumatism, and his voice
sounded cracked and querulous.

"Is de Lawd done sont dem vittles?" he demanded suspiciously. "Ef He
ain', I dunno how I'se gwine ter git mo'n a'er ash cake fur supper.
'Pears like He's gittin' monst'ous ondependible dese yer las' days. I
ain' lay eyes on er dish er kebbage sence I lef dat ar patch on Hick'ry
Hill, en all de blackeye peas I'se done seen is what I raise right dar
behint dat do'. Es long es Gord A'mighty ondertecks ter feed you, He
mought es well feed you ter yo' tase."

"There are some eggs in the cupboard," said Eugenia seriously. "You must
cook some for supper."

Uncle Ish grunted.

"En egg's er wishwashy creeter es ain' got ernuff tase er its own ter
stan' alont widout salt," he remarked contemptuously; after which he
grew hospitable.

"Ain' you gwine ter step in es you'se passin'?" he inquired.

Eugenia shook her head.

"Not to-day, Uncle Ish," she responded cheerfully. "I know you're
tired--and how is your rheumatism?"

"Wuss en wuss," responded the old negro gloomily. "I'se done cyar'ed one
er dese yer I'sh taters in my pocket twell hit sprouted, en de rhematiks
ain' never knowed 'twuz dar. Hit's wuss en wuss."

As they passed on, he hobbled painfully up the rocky path, leaning
heavily upon his stick and grunting audibly at each rheumatic twinge.

Nicholas and Eugenia followed the highway and turned into the a