by that impulse of
desertion, and she clung the tighter to his arm when she murmured
pitifully, "If you could get me some water, Mr. Granger."

Stephen hastened towards the kitchen pump--the sight of Reuben in his
side of the house, after thirty years, set old chords vibrating with a
suddenness that threatened to snap some disused string, and his
perceptions were not as clear as usual. He seized the dipper, filled it,
and looked about him.

"Where's the tumbler, Jenny?" he called impatiently.

"It's right there," answered the girl, with the explicitness of
agitation.

"Whar?" he demanded with asperity.

"Settin' on the side--right back of the molasses jug."

"Molasses jug!" he exclaimed. "Nice place for the molasses jug!"

"We was goin' to have baked beans for supper," said the trembling Jenny,
feeling that it was best to be tentative about even a trifling matter
within the area of this convulsion, "and you always want it handy."

It was a simple statement, but it laid a finger upon the past and upon
the future. Cynthia, through her half-closed eyes, saw one old man with
disturbed features, standing with his hand upon her chair, while another
old man shuffled toward her with a glass of water, which spilled a
little in his shaking hand as he came across the humble kitchen. Most
inadequate dramatic elements, yet they held the tragedy of nearly a
lifetime, and the comedy, though more evident, was cast by it in the
shade, and she neither laughed nor cried.

Within a few moments more she was on her homeward way, a trifling break
in the harness tied up with twine, and Johnny Allen in the seat beside
her as guard of honor.

The next evening the people, driving home from the Centre, were saved
from some active demonstration only by the repression of the New England
temperament. Some of them even, after driving past, invented an errand
to drive back again, so as to make sure. For the Granger twins sat side
by side in front of the disused doorway, and their straw hats were
turned sociably towards one another, now and then, as they exchanged a
syllable or two, and there was a mild luminousness of pleasure in the
recesses of their pale-blue eyes. The evening darkened fast into night.
The plaintive half-chirp, half-whistle of a tree-toad fell in monotonous
repetition upon the ear.

"Hear them little fellers!" said Stephen, ruminantly. "I reckon they
think it's goin' to rain."

"Yare," said Reuben. "And," he went on,