e parasol she carried, to the light and
slender foot-print she left in the dust of the road. Joe knew at once
that nothing like her had ever before been seen in Canaan.

He had little knowledge of the millinery arts, and he needed none to see
the harmony of the things she wore. Her dress and hat and gloves and
parasol showed a pale lavender overtint like that which he had seen
overspreading the western slope. Under the summer hat her very dark hair
swept back over the temples with something near trimness in the extent
to which it was withheld from being fluffy. It may be that this approach
to trimness, after all, was the true key to the mystery of the lady who
appeared to Joe.

She was to pass him--so he thought--and as she drew nearer, his breath
came faster. And then he realized that something wonderful was happening
to him.

She had stopped directly in front of him; stopped and stood looking at
him with her clear eyes. He did not lift his own to her; a great and
unaccountable shyness beset him. He had risen and removed his hat,
trying not to clear his throat--his everyday sense urging upon him that
she was a stranger in Canaan who had lost her way.

"Can I--can I--" he stammered, blushing, meaning to finish with "direct
you," or "show you the way."

Then he looked at her again and saw what seemed to him the strangest
sight of life. The lady's eyes had filled with tears--filled and
overfilled.

"I'll sit here on the log with you," she said. "You don't need to dust
it!" she went on, tremulously. And even then he did not know who she
was.

There was a silence, for if the dazzled young man could have spoken at
all, he could have found nothing to say; and, perhaps, the lady would
not trust her own voice just then. His eyes had fallen again; he was
too dazed, and, in truth, too panic-stricken now, to look at her. She
was seated beside him and had handed him her parasol in a little way
which seemed to imply that, of course, he had reached for it, so that it
was to be seen how used she was to have all such things done for her. He
saw that he was expected to furl the dainty thing; he pressed the catch
and let down the top timidly, as if fearing to break or tear it; and, as
it closed, held near his face, he caught a very faint, sweet, spicy
[v]emanation from it like wild roses and cinnamon.

"Do you know me?" asked the lady at last.

For answer he could only stare at her, dumfounded; he lifted an unsteady
hand towa