eyes
saw him.

When Harry Temple had made his way toward the Spafford house that
afternoon, with his dauntless front and conceited smile, Miranda had been
sent out to pick raspberries along the fence that separated the Heath
garden from the Spafford garden.

Harry Temple was too new in the town not to excite comment among the young
girls wherever he might go, and Miranda was always having her eye out for
anything new. Not for herself! Bless you! no! Miranda never expected
anything from a young man for herself, but she was keenly interested in
what befell other girls.

So Miranda, crouched behind the berry bushes, watched Harry Temple saunter
down the street and saw with surprise that he stopped at the house of her
new admiration. Now, although Marcia was a married woman, Miranda felt
pleased that she should have the attention of others, and a feeling of
pride in her idol, and of triumph over her cousin Hannah that he had not
stopped to see her, swelled in her brown calico breast.

She managed to bring her picking as near to the region of the Spafford
parlor windows as possible, and much did her ravished ear delight itself
in the music that tinkled through the green shaded window, for Miranda had
tastes that were greatly appealed to by the gay dance music. She fancied
that her idol was the player. But then she heard a man's voice, and her
picking stopped short insomuch that her grandmother's strident tones
mingled with the liquid tenor of Mr. Temple, calling to Miranda to "be
spry there or the sun'll catch you 'fore you get a quart." All at once the
music ceased, and then in a minute or two Miranda heard the Spafford
kitchen door thrown violently open and saw Marcia rush forth.

She gazed in astonishment, too surprised to call out to her, or to
remember to keep on picking for a moment. She watched her as she fairly
flew down between the rows of currant bushes, saw the comb fly from her
hair, saw the glow of excitement on her cheek, and the fire in her eye,
saw her mount the first fence. Then suddenly a feeling of protection arose
within her, and, with a hasty glance toward her grandmother's window to
satisfy herself that no one else saw the flying figure, she fell to
picking with all her might, but what went into her pail, whether
raspberries or green leaves or briars, she did not know. Her eyes were on
the flying figure through the wheat, and she progressed in her picking
very fast toward the lower end of the lot