your father wouldn't approve of? Take your things right
off now, and peel the potaters, and sift the meal for mush in the
morning; an' if Miss Walker's cow must be milked, what's to hender that
Hobe, the great lazy strapper, shouldn't go and milk her?"

"You forget how much he has to do at home now; and one pair of hands
can't do everything, even if they are Hobert Walker's!"

Jenny had spoken with much spirit and some bitterness; and the bright
defiant flush, before noticed, came into her face, as she untied the
cloak and proceeded to sift the meal and peel the potatoes for
breakfast. She did her work quietly, but with a determination in every
movement that indicated a will not easily overruled.

It was nearly dark, and the rain still persistently falling, when she
turned the potato-peelings into the pig-trough that stood only a few
yards from the door, and, returning, put the cloak about her shoulders,
tied it deliberately, turned the hood over her head, and, without
another word, walked straight out into the rain.

"Well, I must say! Well, I _must_ say!" cried the mother, in exasperated
astonishment. "What on airth is that girl a-comin' to?" And, resting her
elbows on her knees, she leaned her yellow face in her hands, and
gathered out of her hard, embittered heart such consolation as she
could.

Jenny, meantime, tucked up her petticoats, and, having left a field or
two between her and the homestead, tripped lightly along, debating with
herself whether or not she should carry out her will to the full, and
return by the way of Mr. John Walker's,--a question she need hardly have
raised, if unexpected events had not interfered with her
predeterminations. At Mrs. Walker's gate she stopped and pulled half a
dozen roses from the bush that was almost lying on the ground with its
burden,--they seemed, somehow, brighter than the roses at home,--and,
with them swinging in her hand, had wellnigh gained the door, before she
perceived that it was standing open. She hesitated an instant,--perhaps
some crazy wanderer or drunken person might have entered the
house,--when brisk steps, coming up the path that led from the
milking-yard, arrested her attention, and, looking that way, she
recognized through the darkness young Hobert Walker, with the full pail
in his hand.

"O Jenny," he said, setting down the pail, "we are in such trouble at
home! The doctor says father is better, but I don't think so, and I
ain't satisfied with w