urtains, she fell into sweet, sad reveries; and when she blew out
her candle for the night, she fell asleep and dreamed new dreams, and
her heart was stirred with the rustling of new-born hopes that rose and
took wing like birds startled from their nests.

V.

"Nor scour the seas, nor sift mankind,
A poet or a friend to find:
Behold, he watches at the door!
Behold his shadow on the floor!"

Emerson's _Saadi._

Lyddy Butterfield's hen turkey was of a roving disposition. She had
never appreciated her luxurious country quarters in Edgewood, and was
seemingly anxious to return to the modest back yard in her native city.
At any rate, she was in the habit of straying far from home, and the
habit was growing upon her to such an extent that she would even lead
her docile little gobblers down to visit Anthony Croft's hens and share
their corn.

Lyddy had caught her at it once, and was now pursuing her to that end
for the second time. She paused in front of the house, but there were
no turkeys to be seen. Could they have wandered up the hill road,--the
discontented, "traipsing," exasperating things? She started in that
direction, when she heard a crash in the Croft kitchen, and then the
sound of a boy's voice coming from an inner room,--a weak and querulous
voice, as if the child were ill.

She drew nearer, in spite of her dread of meeting people, or above all
of intruding, and saw Anthony Croft standing over the stove, with an
expression of utter helplessness on his usually placid face. She had
never really seen him before in the daylight, and there was something
about his appearance that startled her. The teakettle was on the floor,
and a sea of water was flooding the man's feet, yet he seemed to be
gazing into vacancy. Presently he stooped, and fumbled gropingly for the
kettle. It was too hot to be touched with impunity, and he finally left
it in a despairing sort of way, and walked in the direction of a shelf,
from under which a row of coats was hanging. The boy called again in a
louder and more insistent tone, ending in a whimper of restless pain.
This seemed to make the man more nervous than ever. His hands went
patiently over and over the shelf, then paused at each separate nail.

"Bless the poor dear!" thought Lyddy. "Is he trying to find his hat,
or what is he trying to do? I wonder if he is music mad?" and she drew
still nearer the steps.

At this moment he turned and came rapidly