g out at the
bare, harvested fields, nor did she turn at her friend's approach. It
was not until Alice spoke that she looked round.

"Here you are, Prue! Why, whatever is the matter?" she exclaimed, as
she noted the grey pallor of the face before her; the drawn lines
about the mouth, the fiercely burning eyes. "You poor soul, you are
ill; and you never told me a word about it. I have been looking
everywhere for you. It is tea-time. What is it, dear?"

"Do I look ill?" Prudence asked wearily. She passed her hand across
her forehead. She was almost dazed. Then she went on as she turned
again to the window: "I'm all right; my head is aching--that's all. I
don't think I want any tea." The next moment she was all alertness.
"Has Hervey returned from the fields?"

"Hervey? Yes; why? He's returned and gone away again; gone into
Winnipeg. He nearly frightened poor mother Hephzy out of her wits.
Came in all of a sudden and declared he must hurry off to Winnipeg at
once, and he wanted Andy to drive him. You know his way. He wouldn't
give any explanation. He was like a bear to his mother. My fingers
were just itching to slap his face. But come along, dear, you must
have some tea. It'll do your head good."

While she was speaking Alice's eyes never left her friend's face.
There was something about Prudence's expression she didn't like. Her
mind at once reverted to thoughts of fever and sunstroke and such
things, but she said nothing that might cause alarm. She merely
persisted when the other shook her head.

Eventually her persuasions prevailed.

"Mother Hephzy's fretting away down-stairs and Sarah is backing her
up. The long-suffering Mary has been catching it in consequence. So
come along and be your most cheerful self, Prue. The poor old dears
must be humoured."

And Alice with gentle insistence led her companion down to the
parlour.

"And where, miss, have you been all this precious time?" asked Mrs.
Malling, when the two girls reached the parlour. "Sleeping, I'll be
bound, to judge by them spectacles around your eyes. There's no git-up
about young folk now-a-days," she went on, turning to Sarah. "Six
hours' sleep for healthy-minded women, I says; not an hour more nor an
hour less. Sister Emma was allus one o' them for her sy-esta." Then
she turned back to Prudence. "Maybe she learned you, my girl."

"I haven't been sleeping, mother," Prudence protested, taking her
place at the table. "I don't feel very well."

"A