Within its grove of trees, in the midst of last summer's weeds, which were never cut, the long whitewashed house wore a forlorn yet not inhospitable air. Through the snow the hooded roof looked close and secretive; but there was the glimmer of a lamp in one of the lower windows, enormous lilac bushes, which must lend gaiety in April, clustered about the porch, and the spreading frame wings, added by old John Calvin Abernethy, still gave an impression of comfort. It was the ordinary Virginian farm-house of the early nineteenth century, built for service rather than for beauty; and retaining, because of its simplicity, a charm which had long since departed from more ambitious pieces of architecture. "So we're home again," said Jason, glancing about him. The buggy had come to a stop by the front steps, and regardless of the mare's impatience, he sprang to the ground and helped the girl to alight. "Yes, it looks bare, doesn't it?" She lifted her face to his as she answered, and while he looked down into her eyes, a quiver passed over his mouth under the short red moustache. "Do you go over every day?" he asked. "Why haven't I met you before?" She looked down. "Oh, I had to help out at home. But I've worked in the store ever since Mrs. Pedlar was taken ill. I get there about eight usually and stay until just before sunset." "For which, I suppose, you receive an extravagant salary?" She blushed at his whimsical tone. "They pay me ten dollars a month." "Ten dollars a month!" A low whistle escaped his lips. "And you walk four miles a day to earn it." "I don't mind the walk. In good weather I'd rather be out of doors. Besides somebody usually picks me up." "Exactly. As I did this evening. If I hadn't, it would have been after dark when you got home. Well, I can help you while I'm here," he added carelessly. "I go that way every day, and I'll look out for you." Again the dumbness seized her, and she stood there rooted like a plant, while he looked at her. For a moment, so intent was his gaze, she felt that he had forgotten her presence. It was not in the least as if he were staring at her shawl or her mud-stained ulster, or her broken shoes; it was not even as if he were looking at her eyes and thinking how blue they were. No, it was just as if he were seeing something within his own mind. "I've known so few girls," he said presently, as if he were talking to himself, "but, somehow, you seem different." Then with delightful irrelevance, he added playfully, "Don't forget me. I shall see you soon." After he had driven away, she stood gazing after him. Again the mare hesitated, again the wheels crunched on the rocky place. Then the buggy rolled over the bridge; she heard the sound of his voice as he avoided a hole; and a minute later the vehicle had disappeared in the border of leafless woods. "_Don't forget me. I shall see you soon._"