ad eaten, old Sally gathered the few dishes together and
placed all the splint-bottomed chairs back against the sides of the
room, and, only half disrobing, crawled into the far side of the bed
opposite to the mother's, behind the homespun curtain.

"To-morrow I reckon I kin go home to my old man, now you've come, Cass."

"Yes," said the girl in a low voice, "you have been right kind to
we-all, Aunt Sally."

Then she bent over her mother, ministering to her few wants; lifting her
forward, she shook up the pillow, and gently laid her back upon it, and
lightly kissed her cheek. The child had quickly dropped to sleep, curled
up like a ball in the farther side of his mother's bed, undisturbed by
the low murmur of conversation. Cassandra drew her chair close to the
fire and sat long gazing into the burning logs that were fast crumbling
to a heap of glowing embers. She uncoiled her heavy bronze hair and
combed it slowly out, until it fell a rippling mass to the floor, as she
sat. It shone in the firelight as if it had drawn its tint from the fire
itself, and the cold night had so filled it with electricity that it
flew out and followed the comb, as if each hair were alive, and made a
moving aureola of warm red amber about her drooping figure in the midst
of the sombre shadows of the room. Her face grew sad and her hands moved
listlessly, and at last she slipped from her chair to her knees and wept
softly and prayed, her lips forming the words soundlessly. Once her
mother awoke, lifted her head slightly from her pillow and gazed an
instant at her, then slowly subsided, and again slept.

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH AUNT SALLY TAKES HER DEPARTURE AND MEETS FRALE

The loom shed was one of the log cabins connected with the main building
by a roofed passage, which Thryng had noticed the evening before as
being an odd fashion of house architecture, giving the appearance of a
small flock of cabins all nestling under the wings of the old building
in the centre.

The shed was dark, having but one small window with glass panes near the
loom, the other and larger opening being tightly closed by a wooden
shutter. David slept late, and awoke at last to find himself thousands
of miles away from his dreams in this unique room, all in the deepest
shadow, except for the one warm bar of sunlight which fell across his
face. He drowsed off again, and his mind began piecing together
fragments and scenes from the previous day and evening,