, but I can't make myself say it, somehow. You're so much older
and wiser than I."

"Don't be vain of your youth. I'm only five years ahead of you, and, as
for wisdom, anybody could teach a country school in Winter and grow
grapes the rest of the time."

"I'm not so sure of that. Come, it's getting late."

They went down the hill together, hand in hand like two children. The
young man's mood had changed for the better and he was whistling
cheerfully. They stopped at the corner where she must turn to go home.

"Good-night," she said.

"Good-night, Rosemary. I wish I could come to see you sometimes."

"So do I, but it's better that you shouldn't."

"I don't see why you can't come over in the evenings occasionally. I
always read to Mother and you might as well listen, too. I'd gladly take
you home."

"It would be lovely," she sighed, "but I can't."

"You know best," he answered, shivering. "It's pretty cold up there
most of the time."

[Sidenote: Lonely Heights]

"The heights are always cold, aren't they?"

"Yes, and they're supposed to be lonely, too. Good-night again. Let me
know how you like the book."

Woman-like, she watched him as he went down the street. She liked the
way his head was set upon his broad shoulders; she admired his long,
swinging stride. When his figure was lost in the gathering darkness she
turned, regretfully, and went home.

II

Brown Alpaca

[Sidenote: A Cheerless Room]

At seven o'clock, precisely, Grandmother Starr limped into the
dining-room. It was one of her "lame" days, though sometimes she forgot
which was her lame side, and limped irregularly and impartially with
either foot, as chanced to please her erratic fancy.

A small lamp cast a feeble, unshaded light from the middle of the table,
for the morning was dark, and the room smelled abominably of oil. The
flickering rays picked out here and there a bit of tarnished gold from
the wall paper, and, as though purposely, made the worn spots in the
carpet unusually distinct. Meaningless china ornaments crowded the
mantel, but there was no saving grace of firelight in the small black
cavern beneath. A little stove, in one corner of the room, smoked
industriously and refused to give out any heat.

"Rosemary," said Grandmother Starr, fretfully, "I don't see why you
can't never learn to build a fire. Get me my shoulder shawl."

[Sidenote: Cold and Cross]

The girl compressed her pale lips into a thin, tight line.