drew a
fluttering sigh of assent. Then the two girls lay in each other's
arms, looking at the moonlight which streamed in through the window.
God knew in what realms of pure romance, and of passion so
sublimated by innocence that no tinge of earthliness remained, the
two wandered in their dreams.

At last, that afternoon in February, Ellen put down little Amabel
and got out her needle-work. She was making a lace neck-tie for her
own adornment. She showed it to her grandmother at her mother's
command. "It's real pretty," said Mrs. Zelotes. "Ellen takes after
the Brewsters; they were always handy with their needles."

"Can uncle sew?" asked little Amabel, suddenly, from her corner, in
a tone big with wonder.

Eva and the others chuckled, but Mrs. Zelotes eyed the child
severely. "Little girls shouldn't ask silly questions," said she.

Andrew passed his hand with a rough caress over the small flaxen
head. "Uncle Andrew can't sew anything but shoes," said he.

Little Amabel's question had aroused in Mrs. Zelotes a carping
spirit even against Ellen. Presently she turned to her. "I heard
something about you," said she. "I want to know if it is true. I
heard that you were walking home from school with that Joy boy one
day last week." Ellen looked at her grandmother without flinching,
though the pink was over her face and neck.

"Yes'm, I did," said she.

"Well, I think it's about time it was put a stop to," said Mrs.
Zelotes. "That Joy boy!"

Then Fanny lost her temper. "I can manage my own daughter, Grandma
Brewster," said she, "and I'll thank you to attend to your own
affairs."

"You don't seem to know enough to manage her," retorted Mrs.
Zelotes, "if you let her go traipsin' round with that Joy boy."

The warfare waged high for a time. Andrew withdrew to the kitchen.
Ellen took little Amabel up in her own chamber and showed her her
beautiful doll, which looked not a day older, so carefully had she
been cherished, than when she first had her. Ellen felt both
resentment and shame, and also a fierce dawning of partisanship
towards Granville Joy. "Why should my grandmother speak of him so
scornfully?" she asked herself. "He is a real good boy."

That night was very cold, a night full of fierce white glitter of
frost and moonlight, and raging with a turbulence of winds. Ellen
lay awake listening to them. Presently between the whistle of the
wind she heard another, a familiar pipe from a boyish throat. She
spran