she ask questions. Notwithstanding, after
a few words of greeting, Ambrose had the impression of being shooed into
the house, Peachy using her white apron for the purpose.

Yet this had not been his intention, for indeed he had arrived at the
farm an hour before dinner, with the idea of taking Peachy out for a
walk and then possibly confiding to her the original purpose of his
escape from Pennyroyal; surely _she_ could be made to understand better
than any one else, and his mood was now one requiring sympathy. Instead,
however, there was something mysterious the matter with the girl's
costume, so that Ambrose shortly found himself divested of his hat and
duster and shut up in a sticky parlour with the family album on his lap
for entertainment, and only one window open to give him just enough
light to be able faintly to see and air to keep barely alive. On
entering the room his first impulse naturally had been to fling open
wide all the windows, but hearing his hostess's cries of horror, both
his arms and his inclination had weakened. Although truly the lawn about
the Red Farm house was exquisitely green and free from dust, yet the
thought of possible desecration to the best parlour had the effect of
reality.

Now although Ambrose was miserably settled according to Peachy's
directions, and in spite of having expressed the desire to change her
dress at once, the girl still lingered on, her face wearing a look that
troubled her suitor as it was so unlike her usually placid and admiring
one. Her red lips were drawn, her brow puckered, her atmosphere one of
extreme disapproval. Under the circumstances Ambrose's forehead was
naturally moist with perspiration and his face not overly clean, yet his
clothes, notwithstanding being somewhat crumpled and dusty, were plainly
his Sunday best.

"What is it, Peachy?" he asked, first studying himself solicitously.
Then, following her shuddering gaze across the crimson splendour of the
Brussels carpet, he beheld a track of mud made with footprints so large
that they could belong to no other feet than his. His eyes dropped.
Surely his feet were caked with mud--mud from the shadowy cool depth of
the woods, from the banks of that celestial river so lately deserted by
him. Yet, seeing the girl's unhappiness, again the young man surrendered
and so for a longtime (it was hard to tell how long) continued sitting
in the same place. Peachy had gone away, to remain perhaps till dinner
time, and