e
breathed. Her mind was all a mingling of past and present, but chiefly
it seemed to be invaded by a young face, sullen sometimes like the
tramp's, and then again gay with laughter.

When she came to her every-day frame of mind, the woods were still, and
to her vivid sensibilities more deserted. She made no doubt the thief
was gone in the way she had marked out for him. Ann had a childlike
sense that he would believe her, because she meant so well. She took her
own path soberly home again, not across the marsh this time, but half
the way by the high-road. At one point she caught the sound of voices,
subdued to the mysterious note of the hour itself. She stepped over a
stone wall and lay down in the damp bracken there, and in a moment, as
she expected, the cautious steps went by her on their quest, a party of
eight or ten, as she judged, raising her head cautiously from her
retreat to look and listen. Then she lay down again, chuckling softly as
she did when the mouse escaped, even though it was to gnaw her cheese.
And presently she took the road, and so went home.

Ann could not go to bed that night. It was not that she expected news,
but she had a feeling that powers were abroad to shape and guide things,
and that, though humbly, she must be among them. Perhaps it was the
excitement of the time and stirring memories, but, for whatever reason,
it seemed to her that her "folks" were all about her, strengthening her
to the kindnesses and the loyalties of life. She was not in the habit
of praying; but as she lay upon the lounge in the kitchen, between
waking and sleep, she kept saying to some hidden power: "You look out
for him. Young folks don't know half the time what's best for 'em." And
toward morning, in her confused state between life and sleep, she hardly
knew whether it was her brother she prayed for or the unknown man. Once
she heard a quick, sharp noise as if a window opened. She started up.
"Yes, yes!" she called, out of her dream. "You want me? I'm right here."
But no one answered, and she settled again to sleep.

It was seven o'clock when she opened her eyes to find the kitchen
flooded with light. It was a brilliant day, but she was stiff and cold.
After she had started her fire, she went into the bedroom to comb her
hair, and glanced into the little blurred mirror she sometimes found her
only company. The window was wide, the fresh May air blowing in, and
there under the window on the floor was her silver