thin, sensitive nose, and a colorless mouth set in a
harsh line by excessive physical suffering. There
was about her, in spite of her gaunt features and
narrow, stooping frame, something appealingly simple,
girlish. A blue ribband made a gay note in her
faded, scant hair; she had pinned a piece of draggled
color about her throat. "I've been looking
for you the half-hour," she said querulously; "draw
up t' the table."

"I stopped at Simmons', and brought you a pretty,
too; it's in the bundle."

"Gordon!" she exclaimed, as he unwrapped the
shoes, "they are elegant! Had you ought to have
got them? We need so much -- mosquito bar, the
flies are terrible wearing, the roof's crying for tin,
and--"

"You're as bad as Sampson," he interrupted her,
almost shortly; "we've got to have pleasures as
well as profits. And too," he directed, "don't put
those shoes away like you did that watered silk
shawl I got you in Stenton. Wear them... tonight."

"Oh, no!" she cried, "not just setting around;
they'll get smudged. Not tonight, Gordon; maybe
tomorrow, or when I go to church."

"Tonight," he repeated inexorably.

A bare, stained table with spreading legs pinned
through the oak board was ranged against a bench

[[38]]

p037 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p038w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p039

v?