her most cheerfully, giving her the reins when
she had climbed into the wagon, and they talked of the weather and of
the next day's plans as they drove home together. The girl felt a
sense of guilt and a shameful lack of courage, but she was needlessly
afraid that her happiness might be spoiled by a word from that
quarter.

That very evening it was raining outside, and the doctor and Nan were
sitting in the library opposite each other at the study-table, and as
they answered some letters in order to be ready for the early morning
post, they stole a look at each other now and then. The doctor laid
down his pen first, and presently, as Nan with a little sigh threw
hers into the tray beside it, he reached forward to where there was
one of the few uncovered spaces of the dark wood of the table and drew
his finger across it. They both saw the shining surface much more
clearly, and as the dusty finger was held up and examined carefully by
its owner, the girl tried to laugh, and then found her voice trembling
as she said: "I believe I haven't forgotten to put the table in order
before. I have tried to take care of the study at any rate."

"Nan dear, it isn't the least matter in the world!" said Dr. Leslie.
"I think we are a little chilly here this damp night; suppose you
light the fire? At any rate it will clear away all those envelopes and
newspaper wrappers," and he turned his arm-chair so that it faced the
fireplace, and watched the young girl as she moved about the room. She
lifted one of the large sticks and stood it on one end at the side of
the hearth, and the doctor noticed that she did it less easily than
usual and without the old strength and alertness. He had sprung up to
help her just too late, but she had indignantly refused any assistance
with a half pettishness that was not a common mood with her.

"I don't see why Jane or Marilla, or whoever it was, put that heavy
log on at this time of the year," said Dr. Leslie, as if it were a
matter of solemn consequence. By this time he had lighted a fresh
cigar, and Nan had brought her little wooden chair from some corner of
the room where it had always lived since it came with her from the
farm. It was a dear old-fashioned little thing, but quite too small
for its owner, who had grown up tall and straight, but who had felt a
sudden longing to be a child again, as she quietly took her place
before the fire.

"That log?" she said, "I wonder if you will never learn that