santry,
and went on, not in the least puzzled by the certainty that although she
was but twenty-three and Sabrina was sixty, they were in all ways
companionable. It had begun when Clelia, a child of ten, had had a
temper-fit at home, and started out to join the Shakers. She had met a
turkey-gobbler at Sabrina's gate, and, ashamed to cry but too obstinate
to run, had stood in blank horror until Sabrina came out and routed the
foe. Then Sabrina had taken her in to eat honey and spend an enchanted
afternoon. After that Sabrina's house was the delectable land, and
Clelia fled to it when she was happy or when the world was against her.

To-day she walked swiftly through the warm incense of the pines. It was
hot weather, and insects vexed the ear with an unwearied trill. But the
heat of despair was greater in the girl than any such assault. Her
cheeks had each a deep red spot. Her eyes were dark with feeling, and on
the long black lashes hung fringing drops. She walked lightly, with
springing strides. Beyond the pine woods, in the patch of sunny road
bordered by dust-covered hardhack and elder, she paused for a moment, to
dash the tears from her eyes. There in the open day she felt as if some
prying glance might read her grief. The woods were kinder to it.

Sabrina's house was at the first turning, a gray, weather-beaten
dwelling of mellow tones, set within a generous sweep of green. It had a
garden in front. Sabrina herself was in the garden now, weeding the
balm-bed. Sometimes Clelia thought the garden was almost too sweet after
Sabrina had been there stirring up the scents. At least a third of it
was given to herbs, and even the touch of a skirt in passing would brush
out fragrance from it. There were things there that strangely seemed to
have no smell at all; but grown in such rank masses, they contributed
mysteriously to the alembic of the year.

Sabrina, risen to her feet now, had a look of youth touched by something
that was not so much age as difference. She was slender, and still with
a girl's symmetry, the light-footed way of moving, the little sinuous
graces of a body unspoiled and delighting in its own uses. Her face had
a rounded plumpness, and her cheeks were pink. People said now, as they
had in her youth, that Sabrina Thorne had the skin of a baby. One old
woman, chiefly engaged in marking down human commodities, always added
that it was because of that heart trouble Sabrina had; but nobody
listened. Sabrina