must leave them to see
things for themselves. Besides, she was conscious that she had herself
been noticed only in the slightest degree by this maiden whose big brown
eyes were fixed upon Hallam with a steady gaze that annoyed him
exceedingly. He was always more conscious of his lameness in the
presence of a stranger, and the people he had met, heretofore, had been
so well bred that beyond the first involuntary surprise at his condition
they had ignored it entirely.

To his amazement Gwendolyn exclaimed:--

"So you're the lame fellow, are you? Well now, you don't look it, not
above your waist. You look real likely in your face, and your shoulders
is broader than Lionel Percival's. He's considered well growed, too."

"Is he?" asked poor Hallam, understanding that some sort of reply was
expected.

"Yes; 'Bony' feels real sot up, don't he, taking care of them donkeys?
Oh, I tell you, 'Bony' is a case."

"Is he?" again feebly ejaculated Hallam. He looked helplessly toward
Amy, but she was disappearing indoors, too eager to be with her parents
to loiter with this unprepossessing guest.

"Yes, he's telling all over the mill, and village too, how that he
belongs to your folks now. He's going to live here, ain't he?"

"He may be. It will be just as Cleena wishes, I fancy. She is the one
who has taken him in charge."

"That's the work girl, ain't it?"

To the young Kayes and their parents their faithful servant had never
been anything save just "Cleena." Her position in their family was as
assured as their own, and that she might be thought a "work girl" by
others, was a novel idea to the lad. It gave him something natural to
think about; and he stood leaning on his crutches, with a smile upon his
face, looking down upon the girl in the rocking-chair, chewing gum and
swaying so composedly.

"Why, yes; I suppose she is. She certainly works, and all the time. But
I should hardly call her a 'girl.'"

"Say, you must be tired, standing so long. Take this chair. I'll step in
and get another."

Again Hallam smiled. The girl, in her ignorant kindness of heart, had
broken a minor law of that courtesy in which he had been educated. She
had offered him the chair in which she had herself been sitting, instead
of the fresh one she meant to get. But he declined both, saying:--

"Please don't trouble. I can easily bring one for myself."

Because she was curious to see how he would do this, she watched him and
sat still. Now