vy gray shawl, he did glance at her, and his
face grew warm. But Isabel did not look at him, and all through the
service she sat with a haughty pose of the head, gazing down into her
lap. When it was over, she waited for no one, since her sister was not
at church, but sped away down the snowy road.

The next day, Isabel stayed after school, and so it was in the wintry
twilight that she walked home, guarded by the few among her flock who
had been kept to learn the inner significance of common fractions.
Approaching her own house, she quickened her steps, for there before the
gate (taken from its hinges and resting for the winter) stood a blue
pung. The horse was dozing, his Roman nose sunken almost to the snow at
his feet. He looked as if he had come to stay. Isabel withdrew her hand
from the persistent little fingers clinging to it.

"Good-night, children," said she. "I guess I've got company. I must
hurry in. Come bright and early to-morrow."

The little group marched away, swathed in comforters, each child
carrying the dinner-pail with an easy swing. Their reddened faces
lighted over the chorusing good-nights, and they kept looking back,
while Isabel ran up the icy path to her own door. It was opened from
within, before she reached it, and a tall, florid woman, with smoothly
banded hair, stood there to receive her. Though she had a powerful
frame, she gave one at the outset an impression of weak gentleness, and
the hands she extended, albeit cordial, were somewhat limp. She wore her
bonnet still, though she had untied the strings and thrown them back;
and her ample figure was tightly laced under a sontag.

"Why, aunt Luceba!" cried Isabel, radiant. "I'm as glad as I can be.
When did you rain down?"

"Be you glad?" returned aunt Luceba, her somewhat anxious look relaxing
into a smile. "Well, I'm pleased if you be. Fact is, I run away, an' I'm
jest comin' to myself, an' wonderin' what under the sun set me out to do
it."

"Run away!" repeated Isabel, drawing her in, and at once peeping into
the stove. "Oh, you fixed the fire, didn't you? It keeps real well. I
put on coal in the morning, and then again at night."

"Isabel," began her aunt, standing by the stove, and drumming on it with
agitated fingers, "I hate to have you live as you do. Why under the sun
can't you come over to Saltash, an' stay with us?"

Isabel had thrown off her shawl and hat, and was standing on the other
side of the stove; she was tingling