agrant, but a forlorn child who must be
comforted. Without shrinking she clasped his vile hand in her dainty one
and turned him back toward Susanna's cottage. That good soul had now
drawn near and was herself crying bitterly. Why--she could hardly have
explained. Surely, not from any affection for Nathan Pettijohn, returned
rascal, nor from any sentimental memory of bygone years, such as her
mistress's; but just naturally, in sympathy with two other tear-wet
faces. She found the tears a relief. Indeed, they all appeared to do so,
and began to retrace the way to the woodland cottage with swifter steps.
The two women, because they were feeling the cold and now realizing what
a foolish thing they had done in coming out unprotected from it. The
vagrant, because it was his nature to follow rather than lead. Arrived
there, they found the door wide open and the furnishing sadly
disordered. Evidently, Nathan had rummaged the place thoroughly.

The Widow Sprigg had long since dried her unaccountable tears, and was
freshly indignant at the state of affairs. So soon as they were within
doors she turned upon the intruder, and demanded:

"What did you mean by such doin's as these, Nate Pettijohn? Ain't you
ashamed to destroy folkses prope'ty this way? Where's my log-cabin
quilt? My pillows? All my things?"

The man paid no heed to her, but fixed a hungry gaze upon the basket she
had brought earlier in the afternoon, and Eunice interposed:

"Wait, Susanna. Let us feed him first, and hear his story afterward."

With that she opened the basket and set fresh food before him, while,
with that thoughtfulness which was so constantly belying her sharp
tongue, the cottage mistress went to the well and brought in a fresh
pail of water. Though not as ravenous as he had been that afternoon by
the riverside, he even now devoured, rather than ate, the sandwiches and
cakes, swallowing them noisily and so rapidly that what the housekeeper
had supposed would be sufficient to last any one for at least
twenty-four hours disappeared in less than as many minutes.

"Well, my suz! If that don't beat the Dutch! I shouldn't think, if I
hadn't knowed better, 'at you'd seen a mouthful o' victuals sence you
scooted out o' Marsden a dozen years ago! An' as for manners--why, our
pigs is better behaved. Water? Drink your fill, an' then, Nate
Pettijohn, you walk right straight out to that wash-dish in the lean-to
an' scrub yourself well. Of all the dirty crea