on twisted among the long, dark
braids that hung down her shoulders. She had travelled much in older
countries than her own and to her eyes this girl had the air of a
winsome little peasant that knew her simple station and was happy in it.

"Joan is my name, madam--and I have been told that the miller's Dyrk has
called the new brown foal for me--the finest one at the Farm!" she said
with a bubble of laughter.

"Now, madam, we are here at last. Let me help you down, and we will
surprise the Dame for once, for not often does one catch her asleep. She
will be the first always--and here she is!"

They were in the very dooryard of a thriving, deep-eaved farm-house.
Asters glistened with dew about the doorstep, a straw-filled kennel for
the great hound stood close by, the cocks welcomed in the day from
behind a trim green hedge, and slowly across the back-stretching meadow
came home a file of sleek, heavy-uddered cattle. She stared at them
unseeing, for her head reeled, but Joan mistook her staring and began to
prattle:

"You are surprised, no doubt, madam, to see the cows come in from the
pasture this early, but here at the Farm the air is so dry and pure that
they leave them in the fields all night, and the milk tastes of honey
and meadow grass, the miller's Dyrk does say----"

"Child, child, will you never be done with your chatter? The stranger is
sick--too sick, I see, to mind herself of the Farm's cows. Help me to
take her in!"

"You must be the Dame," she said, and tried to look steadily at the
woman who came out of the oaken door to lead her in. She was a strong,
sturdy woman, neither tall nor short, with brown, smooth hair and a
brown, smooth skin with red blood beneath. Her eyes were like brook
water in the sun, that runs over clean pebbles, and she was
deep-chested, and stood firm in her quaintly buckled shoes. She wore a
chintz gown dyed with little red and yellow flowers that was looped up
over the hips, and at her waist hung a bunch of heavy, wrought keys.

"Nay, now, never try to talk," she said, and put a strong arm about her
drooping guest. "You are past talking, poor thing! You have done far too
much--for others, I'll be bound. Rest first, and then talk after that.
Help her up the stairs, now, Joan, and hush thy chatter."

"But you do not know why I am here," she murmured, leaning hard upon the
black oaken rail of the polished stair.

"I know you are here, do I not?" the Dame answered quietly; "I s