was on the outskirts of the
village. The shadow of the western range had now slipped across the valley
and nearly climbed the opposite wall; lavender scarfs of mist veiled the
far, jumbled peaks in the darkling rift; slim, swaying columns of smoke
from the clustered chimneys of Greenstream towered dizzily through the
shaded air to where, high above, they were transformed to gold by the
last, up-flung rays of the sun.

VII

A smooth, conical hill rose sharply to the left, momentarily shutting out
the valley; and beyond, at the foot of a steep declivity, stood the
Makimmon dwelling. Originally a four-square, log house, the logs had been
covered by boards, and to its present, irregular length, one room in
width, had been added an uneven roofed porch broadside on a narrow lip of
sod by a wide, shallow stream. An indifferent stand of corn held
precariously to the sharp slope from the public road; an unkempt cow
grazed the dank sod by a primitive well sweep; a heap of tin cans, bright
or rusted, their fading paper labels loose and littering the grass, had
been untidily accumulated at a back door.

Gordon passed about the end of his dwelling to the side that faced the
water. A wave of hot air, a heavy, greasy odor and the sputtering of
boiling fat, swept out from the kitchen. He filled a tin basin on the
porch from a convenient bucket of water, and made a hasty toilet.

Clare paused at the door, a long handled spoon in her attenuated grasp;
she was an emaciated woman of thirty, with prominent cheek bones, a thin,
sensitive nose, and a colorless mouth set in a harsh line by excessive
physical suffering. There was about her, in spite of her gaunt features
and narrow, stooping frame, something appealingly simple, girlish. A blue
ribband made a gay note in her faded, scant hair; she had pinned a piece
of draggled color about her throat. "I've been looking for you the half
hour," she said querulously; "draw up t' the table."

"I stopped at Simmons', and brought you a pretty, too; it's in the
bundle."

"Gordon!" she exclaimed, as he unwrapped the shoes, "they are elegant! Had
you ought to have got them? We need so much--mosquito bar, the flies are
terrible wearing, the roof's crying for tin, and--"

"You're as bad as Sampson," he interrupted her, almost shortly; "we've got
to have pleasures as well as profits. And too," he directed, "don't put
those shoes away like you did that watered silk shawl I got you in
Stenton