ght about a pile o'
misery in yore life, John Westerfelt, an' you hain't a-gwine to throw
it off like a ol' coat, an' dance an' make merry. You may try that
game; but yore day is over; you already bear the mark of it in yore
face an' sunk cheeks. You've got another gal on yore string by this
time, too."

"You are mistaken, Mrs. Dawson."

"How about the one at the hotel that nussed you through yore sick
spell?"

"There is nothing between us." He hesitated, then added: "Nothing at
all, nor there never will be."

"_You_ say thar hain't, but that don't prove it. I want to lay eyes on
_her_; I can tell ef you have been up to yore old tricks when I see
'er. Ef she's got a purty face you have."

He made no reply.

She hitched her burden up on her left hip and curved her body to the
right. "I'm a-gwine to put up thar, an' I'll see. The Bradleys 'll
think quar ef I don't put up with them, I reckon; but I'm gwine to try
hotellin' fer once. Right now it's in my line uv business.
Good-mornin'; I don't owe you anything--nothin' in the money way, I
mean. Ah! you think I'm a devil, I reckon; well, you made me what I
am. I'm yore work, John Westerfelt!"

He stood in the stable door and watched the little bent figure walk
away. He saw her pass the cottages, the store, the bar, and enter the
hotel; then he went through the stable into the back yard and stood
against the wall in the warm sunlight. He didn't want Washburn to come
to him just then with any questions about business. A sudden,
startling fear had come to him. He was going to lose Harriet now, and
through Mrs. Dawson, and it would be the just consequences of his early
indiscretion.

Chapter XVI

As the old woman entered the hotel she saw no one. Looking into the
parlor, and seeing it empty, she went down the hall to the rear of the
house. The door of the dining-room was open. Mrs. Floyd was there
arranging some jars of preserves in the cupboard, and turned at the
sound of the slip-shod feet.

"Good-morning," Mrs. Floyd said; "won't you have a seat?"

Mrs. Dawson put her shawl and carpetbag on a chair. "I want to put up
heer to-night," she said. "I never put up at a tavern in my life, an'
I'm a sorter green hand at it. I reckon you could tell that by lookin'
at me."

"We are pretty full," said Mrs. Floyd; "but we will manage to make a
place for you somehow. My daughter will show you a room. Oh, Harriet!"

"Yes, mother." Harriet cam