bed to
sleep in, and your dinner, you know; and you must do work for
somebody, to pay for it."

"To pay for my dinner?"

"Yes."

"Very good!" said Clam. "I guess I'll stand it. Will it be
for you?"

"No, I think not."

"Won't you?" said Clam wishingly. "I'll do work for you."

"Thank you. Maybe you shall."

"I'm goin' home now," said Clam, getting up and shouldering
her basket.

"The storm's too bad yet," said Winthrop.

"Crackey! what do you think I care for that! The rain won't
wet _me_ much."

"Come to my house to-morrow, if you want to see me again,"
said Winthrop, -- "about dinner-time."

Clam nodded, and fixing her bright eyes very intently first on
one and then on the other of the friends she was leaving, she
ended with a long parting look at Winthrop which lasted till
she had passed from sight out of the door of the shed.

The violence of the storm was gone over; but though the
thunder sounded now in the distance and the lightning played
fainter, the rain fell yet all around them, in a gentle and
very full shower.

"Do you suppose she has six miles to go?" said Elizabeth.

"No."

"I thought you answered as if you believed her when she said
so."

"It isn't best to tell all one's thoughts," said Winthrop
smiling.

Elizabeth went back to her box seat.

"I wish the rain would let us go home too," she said.

"Your wishes are so accustomed to smooth travelling, they
don't know what to make of a hindrance," said her companion.

Elizabeth knew it was true, and it vexed her. It seemed to
imply that she had not been tried by life, and that nobody
knew what she would be till she was tried. That was a very
disagreeable thought. There again he had the advantage of her.
Nothing is reliable that is not tried. "And yet," she said to
herself, "I _am_ reliable. I know I am."

"What can anybody's wish make of a hindrance?" was her reply.

"Graff it in well, and anybody can make a pretty large thorn
of it."

"Why Mr. Winthrop! -- but I mean, in the way of dealing with it
pleasantly?"

"Pleasantly? -- I don't know," said he; "unless they could get
my mother's recipe."

"What does _her_ wish do with a hindrance?"

"It lies down and dies," he said, with a change of tone which
shewed whither his thoughts had gone.

"I think I never wish mine to do that," said Elizabeth.

"What then? Remember you are speaking of hindrances absolute --
that cannot be removed."

"But Mr. Winthrop, do you thin