e, I have not yet arrived at the fine distinction between
'walking out, 'settin' up,' and 'stiddy comp'ny.' I should infer that
'walking out' came first, for 'settin' up' must take a great deal
more courage, but even 1, with my vast intellect, cannot at present
understand 'stiddy comp'ny.'"

"Joe takes her out every Sunday in the carriage," volunteered Ruth, when
the silence became awkward.

"In the what?"

"Carriage--haven't you ridden in it?"

"I have ridden in them, but not in it. I walked to the 'Widder's,' but
if it is the conveyance used by travellers, they are both 'walking out'
and 'settin' up.'"

They paused at the gate. "Thank you for a pleasant afternoon," said
Winfield. "I don't have many of them."

"You're welcome," returned Ruth, conveying the impression of great
distance.

Winfield sighed, then made a last desperate attempt. "Miss Thorne," he
said, pleadingly, "please don't be unkind to me. You have my reason in
your hands. I can see myself now, sitting on the floor, at one end of
the dangerous ward. They'll smear my fingers with molasses and give me
half a dozen feathers to play with. You'll come to visit the asylum,
sometime, when you're looking for a special, and at first, you won't
recognise me. Then I'll say: 'Woman, behold your work,' and you'll be
miserable all the rest of your life."

She laughed heartily at the distressing picture, and the plaintive
tone of his voice pierced her armour. "What's the matter with you?" she
asked.

"I don't know--I suppose it's my eyes. I'm horribly restless and
discontented, and it isn't my way."

Then Ruth remembered her own restless weeks, which seemed so long ago,
and her heart stirred with womanly sympathy. "I know," she said, in a
different tone, "I've felt the same way myself, almost ever since I've
been here, until this very afternoon. You're tired and nervous, and you
haven't anything to do, but you'll get over it."

"I hope you're right. I've been getting Joe to read the papers to me,
at a quarter a sitting, but his pronunciation is so unfamiliar that it's
hard to get the drift, and the whole thing exasperated me so that I had
to give it up."

"Let me read the papers to you," she said, impulsively, "I haven't seen
one for a month."

There was a long silence. "I don't want to impose upon you," he
answered--"no, you mustn't do it."

Ruth saw a stubborn pride that shrank from the slightest dependence, a
self-reliance that would not falter,