I probably should never have spoken
to you about it. The poor child's conscience troubled her so last
evening that she came crying to me and confessed, and it is because
I gathered from her that she had told enough to make you at least
guess the truth that I am here now. I prefer that you should hear
the story just as it is from me, rather than imagine something
which might be worse. Don't you see?"

Jed saw, but he was still very much perturbed.

"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he begged, "don't tell me anything,
please don't. I laid awake about all night thinkin' what I'd ought
to do, whether I'd ought to tell you what Babbie said, or just not
trouble you at all and try to forget I ever heard it. That's what
I decided finally, to forget it; and I will--I vow and declare I
will! Don't you tell me anything, and let me forget this. Now
please."

But she shook her head. "Things like that are not so easily
forgotten," she said; "even when one tries as hard to forget as I
am sure you would, Mr. Winslow. No, I want to tell you; I really
do. Please don't say any more. Let me go on. . . . Oh," with a
sudden burst of feeling "can't you see that I must talk with
SOMEONE--I MUST?"

Her clasped fingers tightened and the tears sprang to her eyes.
Poor Jed's distress was greater than ever.

"Now--now, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered, "all I meant to say was
that you mustn't feel you've got to tell me. Course if you want
to, that's different altogether. What I'm tryin' to say," he
added, with a desperate attempt to make his meaning perfectly
clear, "is not to pay any attention to ME at all but do just what
YOU want to, that's all."

Even on the verge of tears as she was, she could not forbear
smiling a little at this proclamation of complete self-effacement.
"I fear I must pay some attention to you," she said, "if I am to
confide in you and--and perhaps ask your help, your advice,
afterwards. I have reached a point when I must ask some one's
advice; I have thought myself into a maze and I don't know what to
do--I don't know WHAT to do. I have no near relatives, no friends
here in Orham--"

Jed held up a protesting hand.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered; "I don't know as you
recollect, probably it might not have meant as much to you as it
did to me; but a spell ago you said somethin' about countin' me as
a friend."

"I know I did. And I meant it. You have been very kind, and
Barbara is so fond of