n provided for her--if not by generously presenting her with the
things that she desired, still quite as effectually by crippling the
energy of her desires, until they were content to sun themselves quietly
in a row, like aged, enfeebled paupers along the south wall of the
poorhouse.

"Aunt Kesiah," said Gay, stopping beside her, "do you think any of us
understand Molly's character? Is she happy with us or not?"

It is a pleasant thing to be at the time of life, and in the possession
of the outward advantages, which compel other persons to stop in the
midst of their own interesting affairs and begin to inquire if they
understand one's character. As Kesiah lifted a caterpillar on a leaf,
and carefully laid it in the centre of the grassy walk, she thought
quite cheerfully that nobody had ever wondered about her character, and
that it must be rather nice to have some one do so.

"I don't know, Jonathan; you will tread on that caterpillar if you
aren't careful."

"Hang the caterpillar! I sometimes suspect that she isn't quite so happy
as she ought to be."

"She didn't get over Reuben's death easily, if that is what you mean."

"I don't know whether it is what I mean or not."

"Perhaps her development has surprised you, in a way. The first touch
of sorrow changed her from a child into a woman. No one ever realized, I
suppose, the strength that was in her all the time."

Turning away from her, he stared moodily at Uncle Boaz, who was trimming
the lawn beyond the miniature box hedges of the garden. Furrows of mown
grass lay like golden green wind-drifts behind the swinging passage of
the scythe, and the face of the old negro showed scarred and wistful
under the dappled sunshine. June beetles, coloured like emeralds, spun
loudly through the stillness, which had in it an almost human quality of
hushed and expectant waiting. All Nature seemed to be breathing softly,
lest she should awake from her illusion and find the world dissolved
into space.

"I wonder if it is really the miller?" said Gay suddenly. "The truth is
her life seems empty of something."

"I beg your pardon?" returned Kesiah, startled, for she had been
thinking not of Molly's life, but of her own. It was not much of a life,
to be sure, but it was all she had, so she felt it was only natural that
she should think about it.

"I said I wondered if it were the miller," repeated Gay a little
impatiently. Like his mother he found Kesiah's attacks of inattent