aid to herself. But her face took on a preternatural gravity
at those times, whenever she knew it was safe. She thought she did not
look at anybody; yet she knew that Miss Masters had joined none of the
groups under the trees, and seemed instead to prefer a solitary post in
front of them all, where her pretty figure and dainty appointments were
displayed in full view. Was she looking at the landscape? Diana did not
in the least believe it. But she tried to work without thinking; that
vainest of all cheateries, where the conclusions of thought,
independent of the processes, force themselves upon the mind and lay
their full weight upon it. Only one does not stop anywhere to think
about them, and the weight is distributed. It is like driving fast over
thin ice; stay a minute in any one place, and you would break through.
But that consciousness makes unpleasant driving.

The corn gave forth its sweet smell, and Diana dished it up. What was
the use of taking so much trouble, she thought, as ear after ear, white
and fair, came out of the pot? Yet Diana had enjoyed the notion of
making this variety in the lunch. The coffee steamed forth its
fragrance upon the air; and Diana poured it into prepared cups of cream
and sugar which others brought and carried away; she was glad to stand
by the fire if only she might. How the people drank coffee! Before the
cups were once filled the first time, they began to come back for the
second; and the second, Diana knew, would not satisfy some of the
farmers and farmers' wives there. So pot after pot of the rich beverage
had to be made. It wearied her; but she would rather do that than
anything else. And she had expected this picnic to be such a pleasant
time! And it had turned out such a failure. Standing by her camp fire,
where the ascending column of grey smoke veiled her from observation,
Diana could look off and see the wide landscape of hill and valley
spread out below and around. Not a house; not another wreath of smoke;
not a cornfield; hollows of beauty with nothing but their own green
growth and the sunshine in them; hill-tops fair and lovely, but without
a fence that told of human ownership or a road that spoke of human
sympathy. Was life like that, Diana wondered? Yet surely that landscape
had never looked dreary to her before.

"Mrs. Starling will have another cup of coffee, Miss Diana."

Diana started. What should bring Mr. Knowlton to wait upon her mother's
cups of coffee? She