use and begged the second maid to milk the
cows for her that evening, in case she should not get back, for she had
an errand to do immediately. Then, with a heart now full of anger at
Damie, now full of sorrow for him and his awkwardness, again full of
vexation on account of his coming back, and then again full of
self-reproach that she should be going to meet her only brother in such
a way, Barefoot wended her way out into the fields and down the valley
to Mossbrook Wood.

There was no mistaking the way to Coaly Mathew's, even if one were to
wander off from the foot-path. The smell of burning charcoal led one to
him infallibly.

How the birds are rejoicing in the trees! And beneath them a sad maiden
is passing, thinking how unhappy it must make her brother to see all
these things again, and how badly things must have gone with him, if he
had no other resource but to come home and live upon her earnings.

"Other sisters are helped by their brothers," she thought to herself,
"and I--but I shall show you this time, Damie, that you must stay where
I put you, and that you dare not stir!"

Such were Barefoot's thoughts as she hurried along; and at last she
arrived at Coaly Mathew's. But there she saw only Coaly Mathew himself,
who was sitting by the kiln in front of his log cabin, and holding his
wooden pipe with both hands as he smoked it; for a charcoal-burner is
like a charcoal kiln, in that he is always smoking.

"Has anybody been playing a trick on me?" Barefoot asked herself. "Oh,
that would be shameful! What have I done to people that they should
make a fool of me? But I shall soon find out who did it--and he shall
pay for it."

With clenched fists and a flaming face she stood before Coaly Mathew,
who hardly raised his eyes to her--much less did he speak. As long as
the sun was shining he was almost always mute, and only at night, when
nobody could look into his eyes, did he like to talk, and then he spoke
freely.

Barefoot gazed for a minute at the charcoal-burner's black face, and
then asked impatiently:

"Where is my Damie?"

The old man shook his head. Then Barefoot asked again with a stamp of
her foot:

"Is my Damie with you?"

The old man unfolded his hands and spread them right and left, implying
thereby that he was not there.

"Who was it that sent to me?" asked Barefoot, still more impatiently.
"Can't you speak?"

The charcoal-burner pointed with his right thumb toward the side where a
foot