d forward. The look on his face,
as with swinging shoulders he slouched beside her, sent a thrill
of indignation through Carl. He could give her up, perhaps, if Tom
insisted, but never to a man like Quigg. Before the walking delegate
had "passed the time of day," the young sailor was close beside Jennie,
within touch of her hand.

There was no love lost between the two men. Carl had not forgotten the
proposition Quigg had made to him to leave Tom's employ, nor had Quigg
forgotten the uplifted shovel with which his proposal had been greeted.
Yet there was no well-defined jealousy between them. Mr. Walking
Delegate Dennis Quigg, confidential agent of Branch No. 3, Knights
of Labor, had too good an opinion of himself ever to look upon that
"tow-headed duffer of a stable-boy" in the light of a rival. Nor could
Carl for a moment think of that narrow-chested, red-faced, flashily
dressed Knight as being able to make the slightest impression on "Mees
Jan."

Quigg, however, was more than welcome to Jennie to-day. A little sense
of wounded pride sent the hot color to her cheeks when she thought of
Carl's apparent neglect. He had hardly spoken to her in weeks. What had
she done that he should treat her so? She would show him that there were
just as good fellows about as Mr. Carl Nilsson.

But all this faded out when Carl joined her--Carl, so straight,
clear-skinned, brown, and ruddy; his teeth so white; his eyes so blue!
She could see out of the corner of her eye how the hair curled in tiny
rings on his temples.

Still it was to Quigg she talked. And more than that, she gave him her
prayer-book to carry until she fixed her glove--the glove that needed
no fixing at all. And she chattered on about the dance at the boat club,
and the picnic which was to come off when the weather grew warmer.

And Carl walked silent beside her, with his head up and his heart down,
and the tears very near his eyes.

When they reached the outer gate of the stable-yard, and Quigg had
slouched off without even raising his hat,--the absence of all courtesy
stands in a certain class for a mark of higher respect,--Carl swung back
the gate, and held it open for her to pass in. Jennie loitered for a
moment. There was a look in Carl's face she had not seen before. She had
not meant to hurt him, she said to herself.

"What mak' you no lak me anna more, Mees Jan? I big annough to carry da
buke," said Carl.

"Why, how you talk, Carl! I never said such a