ctical. "It's
very kind of you," he began again, scrambling up one side of the furrow
as she descended on the other, "to--to--take such an interest in--in a
stranger, and I wish you knew how" (she had mounted the ridge again, and
stood balancing herself as if waiting for him to finish his sentence)
"how--how deeply--I--I"--She dropped quickly down again with the same
movement of uneasy consciousness, and he left the sentence unfinished.
The house was now only a few yards away; he hurried forward, but she
reached the wooden platform and stoop upon it first. He, however, at the
same moment caught her hand.

"I want to thank you," he said, "and say good-night."

"Good-night." Her voice was indistinct again, and she was trembling.
Emboldened and reckless, he sprang upon the platform, and encircling her
with one arm, with his other hand he unloosed the woolen cloud around
her head and bared her faintly flushed cheek and half-open, hurriedly
breathing lips. But the next moment she threw her head back with a
single powerful movement, and, as it seemed to him, with scarcely an
effort cast him off with both hands, and sent him toppling from the
platform to the ground. He scrambled quickly to his feet again, flushed,
angry, and--frightened! Perhaps she would call her father; he would be
insulted, or worse,--laughed at! He had lost even this pitiful chance of
bettering his condition. But he was as relieved as he was surprised
to see that she was standing quietly on the edge of the platform,
apparently waiting for him to rise. Her face was still uncovered, still
slightly flushed, but bearing no trace of either insult or anger. When
he stood erect again, she looked at him gravely and drew the woolen
cloud over her head, as she said calmly, "Then I'll tell pa you'll take
the place, and I reckon you'll begin to-morrow morning."

II.

Angered, discomfited, and physically and morally beaten, James Reddy
stumbled and clambered back across the field. The beam of light that had
streamed out over the dark field as the door opened and shut on the
girl left him doubly confused and bewildered. In his dull anger and
mortification, there seemed only one course for him to pursue. He would
demand his wages in the morning, and cut the whole concern. He would go
back to San Francisco and work there, where he at least had friends who
respected his station. Yet, he ought to have refused the girl's offer
before she had repulsed him; his retreat