then two, passed in the desolate cabin in the Hollow. Winter
clutched and held Pine Cone Settlement in a deadly grip. Old people died
and little children were born. Lois Ann, when it was physically
possible, got to the homes of suffering and eased the women, while she
berated the men for bringing poor souls to such dread passes. But always
Nella-Rose hid and shrank from sight. No need, now, to warn her. A new
and terrible look had come into her eyes, and when Lois Ann saw that
creeping terror she knew that her hour had come. To save Nella-Rose, she
believed, she must lay low every illusion and, with keen and deliberate
force, she pressed the apple of the knowledge of life between the
girlish lips. The bitter truth at last ate its way into the girl's soul
and gradually hate, such as she had never conceived, grew and consumed
her.

"She will not die," thought the old woman watching her day by day.

And Nella-Rose did not die, at least not outwardly, but in her, as in
Truedale, the fine, first glow of pure faith and passion, untouched by
the world's interpretation, faded and shrivelled forever.

The long winter hid the secret in the dreary cabin. The roads and
trails were closed; none drew near for shelter or succour.

By springtime Nella-Rose was afraid of every living creature except the
faithful soul who stood guard over her. She ran and trembled at the
least sound; she was white and hollow-eyed, but her hate was stronger
and fiercer than ever.

Early summer came--the gladdest time of the year. The heat was broken by
soft showers; the flowers bloomed riotously, and in July the world-old
miracle occurred in Lois Ann's cabin--Nella-Rose's child was born! With
its coming the past seemed blotted out; hate gave place to reverent awe
and tenderness. In the young mother the woman rose supreme and she would
not permit her mind to hold a harmful thought.

Through the hours of her travail, when Lois Ann, desperate and
frightened, had implored, threatened, and commanded that she should tell
the name of the father of her child, she only moaned and closed her lips
the firmer. But when she looked upon her baby she smiled radiantly and
whispered to the patient old creature beside her:

"Miss Lois Ann, this lil' child has no father. It is my baby and God
sent it. I shall call her Ann--cuz you've been right good to me--you
sholy have."

So it was "lil' Ann" and, since the strange reticence and misunderstood
joyousness remained