But why shouldn't they, even if they hadn't recognized him? He belonged to their world, not hers. Then a new, inexpressibly forlorn thought came to her; what was her world, anyway? She didn't belong anywhere; there was no place for her unless she made one for herself, some time. With that, in spite of this strange, new weariness which dragged at her heart, Lou's indomitable spirit reasserted itself, and her small teeth clamped together. She _would_ make herself a place somewhere, somehow. Returning to the house, she took the ironing from her tired hostess's hands, and worked steadily until at sundown the high treble of childish voices came to her ears, and Jim's merry, laughing tones in reply sent a quick stab through her, but she put down the iron and went determinedly out on the porch. The two little boys came shyly on up the steps, but Jim had paused to feel of his coat, as it lay on the grass, and looked ruefully at her. "It's wet still, I'm afraid," she remarked composedly, as she picked up the red note-book and held it out to him. "Is this yourn? It looks as though it must have dropped out of your pocket an' somebody stepped on it." If the girl noted the swift change which came over his face she gave no sign as he came forward and took the book from her hands. "Yes, it's mine." He opened and closed it again, and then looked up uncertainly into her face as she stood on the steps above him, but Lou was gazing in seeming serenity out over the fields, which were still shimmering in the last rays of the sun. "I--I'll tell you about this some time, Lou. It's funny." "What's funny?" she asked, with a little start, as though he had interrupted some train of thought of her own, far removed from hateful little red books. "If you think it's goin' to be funny to travel in wet clothes to-night, just wait till you git started." But they did not start upon their journey again that night, after all. Their kindly hostess insisted upon their remaining until the morning, at least, and when the supper dishes were cleared away Lou wandered off by herself down the little lane which led to the pasture. There would be three days more, and then their journey's end. Upon one thing she had decided: there would be no school for her! She was going to work as quickly as she could find something to do. Mr. James Abbott must be paid back for the little pink-checked frock and the hat with the green bow, and then she would drop from his sight. Surely in that great city, with its hundreds and hundreds of people, she would be able to disappear. Reaching the pasture, she stood at the gate with her arms resting upon the topmost rail, and was so deep in reflection that she did not hear a step behind her until a hand touched her shoulder, and Jim's voice asked quietly: "What are you doing off here by yourself, Lou? Mrs. Bemis didn't know what had become of you, and I've been looking everywhere."