t.

Through the days that came now Madelon toiled as she had never toiled
before, although she had always been an industrious girl. She had her
own linen-chest, which she would take with her when she married, and
now she bestirred herself to replenish the stores of the house she
would leave, for the comfort of her father and brothers. Long before
dawn the gentle hum of her spinning-wheel began, although the days
were lengthening, and many a time she sat plying it on her solitary
hearth until after midnight. She spent days at the great loom in the
north chamber, marching back and forth before it, a straight,
resolute figure of industry filling human needs, although with sweat
of the brow and heart's blood. No happier was she for her hard toil,
but it kept at least the spirit of fierce endurance alive within her,
for no one succumbs entirely to misery with unfolded hands. Then,
too, she was upheld somewhat by her pride in right-doing and
providing for the interests of her family. Enough of the New England
conscience she had to give her a certain comfort in holding herself
to duty, like a knife to a grindstone.

The third week of April had begun when one morning Dorothy Fair came
to the door. Madelon was out in the field beside the house, laying
some lengths of cloth on the green sunny levels to whiten. The grass
had turned quite green in places, and the sun was hot as midsummer.
The buds on the trees opened before one's eyes, as if unfolded by
warm fingers. People walked languidly, for the humid heat served to
force nothing to life in them but dreams; but the birds lived on
their wings and called out of all the distances.

Madelon, standing up from spreading her linen, caught sight of the
swing of a blue petticoat, like the swing of a blue flower, beside
the house door, and went towards it directly.

But when she reached the house the blue-clad visitor had disappeared
within. Madelon entered and found Dorothy Fair in the north parlor.
Eugene had been sitting in there with his Shakespeare book, and he
had opened the door, bowing and wishing her good-day, with his
courtly grace of manner, although his handsome face was pale.

Dorothy was pale, also, under her blue-ribboned bonnet. She
courtesied on trembling knees, and spoke like a scared child, in
spite of her training and genteel deportment. "Can I see your
sister?" she said, in a half-whisper, and she did not raise her blue
eyes to Eugene's face.

Eugene looked p