d, and she had a good deal of her
bloom left yet, although hard work and worry were doing their best to
rob her of it. But John Harrington was an angry man and did not care
whether the woman in question was pretty or not. Her pigs had rooted
up his garden--that fact filled his mind.

"Mrs. Hayden, those pigs of yours have been in my garden again. I
simply can't put up with this any longer. Why in the name of reason
don't you look after your animals better? If I find them in again I'll
set my dog on them, I give you fair warning."

A faint colour had crept into Mary Hayden's soft, milky-white cheeks
during this tirade, and her voice trembled as she said, "I'm very
sorry, Mr. Harrington. I suppose Bobbles forgot to shut the gate of
their pen again this morning. He is so forgetful."

"I'd lengthen his memory, then, if I were you," returned Harrington
grimly, supposing that Bobbles was the hired man. "I'm not going to
have my garden ruined just because he happens to be forgetful. I am
speaking my mind plainly, madam. If you can't keep your stock from
being a nuisance to other people you ought not to try to run a farm at
all."

Then did Mrs. Hayden sit down upon the doorstep and burst into tears.
Harrington felt, as Sarah King would have expressed it, "every which
way at once." Here was a nice mess! What a nuisance women were--worse
than the pigs!

"Oh, don't cry, Mrs. Hayden," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean--well,
I suppose I spoke too strongly. Of course I know you didn't mean to
let the pigs in. There, do stop crying! I beg your pardon if I've hurt
your feelings."

"Oh, it isn't that," sobbed Mrs. Hayden, wiping away her tears. "It's
only--I've tried so hard--and everything seems to go wrong. I make
such mistakes. As for your garden, sir. I'll pay for the damage my
pigs have done if you'll let me know what it comes to."

She sobbed again and caught her breath like a grieved child.
Harrington felt like a brute. He had a queer notion that if he put his
arm around her and told her not to worry over things women were not
created to attend to he would be expressing his feelings better than
in any other way. But of course he couldn't do that. Instead, he
muttered that the damage didn't amount to much after all, and he hoped
she wouldn't mind what he said, and then he got himself away and
strode through the orchard like a man in a desperate hurry.

Mordecai had gone home and the pigs were not to be seen, but a chubb