, at sundown, flung himself upon
his blanket, spread beneath the stars, dog-tired, fairly trembling
with weariness. But he soon developed a prodigious appetite, and,
after the first few weeks, slept each night like a dead man, until
sunrise.

This morning Annie Warren was too full of her errand to pause an
instant. She stood a moment listening, one ear to the splintery,
unfinished boards, then--

"Mollie," she ventured, "are you awake?"

No answer.

"Mollie"--more insistent, "wake up and let me in."

Still no response.

"Mollie," for the third time, "it is I, Annie; may I enter?"

"Come." The voice was barely audible.

Within the uncomfortably low, dim room the visitor impetuously crossed
the earthen floor half-way to a rude bunk built against the wall, then
paused, her round, childlike face soberly lengthening.

"Mollie, you have been crying!" she charged, resentfully, as if the
act constituted a personal offence. "You can't deceive me. The pillow
is soaked, and your eyes are red." She came forward, impulsively, and
threw herself on the bed, her arm about the other.

"What is it? Tell me--your friend--Annie."

Beneath the light coverlet, Mollie Babcock made a motion of
deprecation, almost of repugnance.

"It is nothing. Please don't pay any attention to me."

"But it _is_ something. Am I not your friend?"

For a moment neither spoke. Annie Warren all at once became conscious
that the other woman was looking at her in a way she had never done
before.

"Assuredly you are my friend, Annie. But just the same, it's nothing."
The look altered until it became a smile.

"Tell me, instead, why you are here," Mollie went on. "It is not usual
at this time of day."

Annie Warren felt the rebuff, and she was hurt.

"It is nothing." The visitor was on her feet, her voice again
resentful; her chin was held high, while her long lashes drooped.
"Pardon me for intruding, for--"

"Annie!"

No answer save the quiver of a sensitive red lip.

"Annie, child, pardon me. I wouldn't for the world hurt you; but it is
so hard, what you ask." Mollie Babcock rose, now, likewise. "However,
if you wish--"

"No, no!" The storm was clearing. "It was all my fault. I know you'd
rather not." She had grasped Mollie's arms, and was forcing her
backward, toward the bunk, gently, smilingly. "Be still. I've
something to tell you. Are you quite ready to listen?"

"Yes, I'm quite ready."

"You haven't the slightest idea what it