her a bit, just a piece beyond t' 'All gates, an'
there she turned me back. 'Good-bye, 'Becca,' she says, 'an' thank God
on yer knees 'at ye've no son to rob his mother! An' if my lad ever
comes back, tell 'im he'll find _his_ mother in a pauper's grave.'"

I walked down the fields into the sanctuary of the wood, where
understanding is sometimes to be found and freedom from painful
thoughts. It was bitterly cold, but the sky was blue, so that in the
clear atmosphere every twig stood out with microscopic sharpness, and
it was impossible to miss the note of hope in the song of new-born
spring.

The trees were for the most part bare of colour--oak and elm and beech
were alike in the grey garb of winter--but the sycamores had burst
their buds and were clad in living green that delighted the eye and
quickened the pulse, whilst great blotches of yellow celandine blazed
in the sunshine of the open spaces like cloth of gold.

But the wood was voiceless at first to the question of my heart, and I
told myself that the "Why?" of life is unanswerable. Then suddenly
there came into my mind the familiar words of Tennyson:

"Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last--far off--at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring,"

and at a bound my Inner Self found firm ground again.

"Grace," I said, "have you forgotten the closing verse of a preceding
stanza?" and I repeated aloud:

"So fret not, like an idle girl,
That life is dash'd with flecks of sin.
Abide: thy wealth is gathered in
When time hath sundered shell from pearl,"

and I determined to conquer my morbid tendencies and take a broader
outlook on life. "An idle girl!" That stuck. "Ineffective depression
is a kind of idleness," I said to myself, "and I will kill it with
industry."

In obedience to this impulse I rose to my feet, and saw Farmer
Goodenough crossing the brook just below. He smiled a greeting as he
came up, and we walked homewards together.

"Now I durst bet a new bonnet to a new hat, Miss 'Olden," he began,
"that I can guess at twice why you've come down 'ere, an' I'll throw
one guess away. You're on what I should call in a manner o' speakin' a
'mopin' expedition;' now isn't that so?"

"But I don't wear bonnets, my dear sir," I rejoined; "and if you should
win a new hat you wouldn't wear it, being of such conservative
leanings. Nevertheless, I am going to plead guilty to your