“Pshaw! I didn’t exactly suffer; you can hardly call it that. I must hasten to reassure her on that point. Dare I face her and Jimmy O’Neill without the will?” “Jimmy doesn’t know but you have it still. I didn’t tell any one but mother, and she thought it was best not to mention it for a few days.” “It is plain to see that you have profited by the example of a most extraordinarily considerate woman, Agnes. How fine that sky is! We shall have good weather to-morrow.” “I am glad of that, for I promised Jeanie to spend the Sabbath with her. She has such a pretty fine neckerchief, and such fine silver buckles for her shoes, new shoes, too.” Agnes looked down at her own coarse shoepacks, and Parker’s eyes followed her glance. About the home place she was wont to go barefoot in mild weather, and he thought the shoepacks were scarce an improvement upon the fashion. “Would you like to have a pair of pretty shoes with silver buckles?” he asked. “I would dearly like to have them. I suppose it isn’t right to be wishing for such vanities, but I believe I like vanities.” “Almost all girls do, and if I had my way, they should all have them. I wish I were a cordwainer, Agnes, I’d then make you a pair of the daintiest shoes you ever saw.” He threw back his head and laughed joyously at the thought. “What is so funny?” “That I should envy a shoemaker his trade, and that in this delightful locality one doesn’t need money nor fine apparel to make him like other people, or to make him happy. I was suddenly impressed with the humor of it, and I laughed in sheer mockery of those misguided persons in that way-back, unenlightened land I came from, who have yet to learn that fine feathers do not make fine birds, for the rarest, sweetest little bird I know doesn’t have and doesn’t need any fine feathers. Speaking of birds, it must be pleasant work building a nest. Just suppose, Agnes, for the humor of it, that we were a pair of birds, and were thinking of nest-building, would the prospect please you? There, don’t answer me. I insist that it will be a fine day to-morrow. How does the garden come on? Are those beans up yet?” Agnes laughed in reply. This nonsense was delightful. She understood it all, and could have wandered on the river’s bank forever listening to the merry chatter. They went on in silence for a little time, then Parker asked abruptly, “Do you like books, Agnes?” “I am very fond of them, but we never had many, and I have had no time to read since I came here, even if I had had anything to read. I picked up a book of yours one day, and I read a little. I liked it.” “What was it?” “One of the plays of Mr. Shakespeare.”