eyes. "Well, then, le's have Fourth o' July fireworks next Sunday
mornin'!"

David looked a little hurt; but that was only because he was puzzled.
His sense of humor wore a different complexion from Letty's. He liked a
joke, and he could tell a good story, but they must lie within the logic
of fun. Letty could put her own interpretation on her griefs, and twist
them into shapes calculated to send her into hysterical mirth.

"You see," said David soothingly, "we're goin' to be together as long as
we live. It ain't as if we'd got to rake an' scrape an' plan to git a
minute alone, as it used to be, now is it? An' after the fencin' 's
done, an' the thrashin', an' we've got nothin' on our minds, we'll take
both horses an' go to Star Pond. Come, now! Be a good girl!"

The world seemed very quiet because Letty was holding silence, and he
looked anxiously down at the top of her head. Then she relented a little
and turned her face up to his--her rebellious eyes and unsteady mouth.
But meeting the loving honesty of his look, her heart gave a great bound
of allegiance, and she laughed aloud.

"There!" she said. "Have it so. I won't say another word. _I_ don't
care!"

These were David's unconscious victories, born, not of his strength or
tyranny, but out of the woman's maternal comprehension, her lavish
concession of all the small things of life to the one great code. She
had taken him for granted, and thenceforth judged him by the intention
and not the act.

David was bending to kiss her, but he stopped midway, and his arm fell.

"There's Debby Low," said he. "By jinks! I ain't more'n half a man when
she's round, she makes me feel so sheepish. I guess it's that eye o'
her'n. It goes through ye like a needle."

Letty laughed light-heartedly, and looked down the path across the lot.
Debby, a little, bent old woman, was toiling slowly along, a large
carpet-bag swinging from one hand. Letty drew a long breath and tried to
feel resigned.

"She's got on her black alpaca," said she. "She's comin' to spend the
day!"

David answered her look with one of commiseration, and, gathering up his
wrench and oil, "put for" the barn.

"I'd stay, if I could do any good," he said hastily, "but I can't. I
might as well stan' from under."

Debby threw her empty carpet-bag over the stone wall, and followed it,
clambering slowly and painfully. Her large feet were clad in congress
boots; and when she had alighted, she regarded them with de