ction. "You can't imagine the state things were in
when your grandmother came--bed not made since Christmas, horsenails
for buttons, comb and brush lost but not missed, wash basin rusty! Your
grandmother, of course, has been severe with me--she makes me go to bed
before sundown. Yet I refuse to part with her. Who takes your
grandmother takes me; and now, Miss Maud, it is your move!"

That night when they sat in the small sitting-room with a bright fire
burning in the shining stove, Maud felt her claim on her grandmother
growing more and more shadowy. Mrs. Harris was in a radiant humor. She
was knitting lace for the curtains, and chatted gaily as she worked.

"You see, Maud, I am never lonely here; it's a real heartsome place to
live. There's the trains goin' by twice a day, and George here is a
real good hand to read out to me. We're not near done with the book
we're reading, and I am anxious to see if Adam got the girl. He was set
on havin' her, but some of her folks were in for makin' trouble."

"Folks sometimes do!" said Shaw, meaningly.

"Well, I can't go until we finish the book," the old lady declared,
"and we see how the story comes out, and I don't believe Maud is the
one to ask it."

Maud made a pretty picture as she sat with one shapely foot on the
fender of the stove, the firelight dancing on her face and hair. Shaw,
looking at her, forgot the errand on which she came--forgot everything
only that she was there.

"Light the lamp and read a bit of the book now," Mrs. Harris said.
"Maud'll like it, I know. She's the greatest girl for books!"

Shaw began to read. It was "The Kentucky Cardinal" he read, that
exquisite love-story, that makes us lovers all, even if we never have
been, or worse still, have forgotten. Shaw loved the book, and read it
tenderly, and Maud, leaning back in her chair, found her heart warmed
with a sudden great content.

A week later Shaw and Maud walked along the river bank and discussed
the situation. Autumn leaves carpeted the ground beneath their feet,
and the faint murmur of the river below as it slipped over its pebbly
bed came faintly to their ears. In the sky above them, wild geese with
flashing white wings honked away toward the south, and a meadow lark,
that jolly fellow who comes early and stays late, on a red-leafed
haw-tree poured out his little heart in melody.

"You see, Mr. Shaw," Maud was saying, "it doesn't look right for
Grandma to be living with a stranger when