"Mart-e-e!" called the voice again, and a plain woman in a calico dress stepped out into the morning sunlight. "I wonder where thet child has gone. She'd try the patience of a saint. Mart--e--e!" "Yes, ma'am." "Come right here this minute." Around the corner of the chicken-coop ran a little figure with flying hair. "Where hev you been?" demanded Mrs. Tucker, impatiently. Marty's bare brown toes burrowed in the chip-pile, and she hung her head. She was a slender girl, and a pair of big, wistful eyes looked out from under her sun-bonnet. "Out lookin' after my punkins," she answered, shyly. "Your punkins!" said Mrs. Tucker, explosively. "You won't have punkins long ef you don't answer when I call." "I didn't hear you, ma'am." "Stuff an' nonsense! I tol' Eb it wa'n't good sense to put such punkin notions in yer head. Now take this cup an' run over to Mis' Wiskins an' ask the loan of some yeast." Marty's feet twinkled as she ran, and Mrs. Tucker was so surprised to see her back so soon that she sent her on another errand. But at last Marty was free to hurry again into the corn-field. Here she went about among the shocks, and lifted the yellow pumpkins, one by one, and carried them to a "double-decker" wagon that stood not far away, climbed up on a stepladder, and dropped them in. Some of them were so large that when she tried to reach around them the sleeves of her outgrown gingham dress drew up over her sunburnt elbows. But she tugged and staggered and wrinkled her freckled nose until the wagon was heaping full. Just as she was completing her task old Ebenezer Tucker came out to the field. "Got 'em loaded?" he asked, gruffly. "Yes, sir." "Well, we'll take 'em to town to-morrow and see what they'll bring." Marty jumped up and clapped her hands. "Oh, Uncle Eb--" "There! neb mind," he said, but there was a note of kindness in his voice. The sun had gone down and the air was frosty and still. Marty's bare toes tingled with the cold, but her face glowed with joy as she trudged toward the house at her uncle's side. She would have liked to take hold of his hand, not only to rest her tired legs, but because her happy heart wanted to show the affection of which it was so bubbling full, but she was afraid. Marty was happier than she had ever been before in her life. That wasn't saying much, for Marty's mother had died when she was very young, and had left her and little Tim alone in the world. They had been passed around from relative to relative for a number of years, and Marty had taken care of Tim, and lavished on him all the affection of her timid heart. While they were together she hadn't minded poor clothes and hard work, but when Uncle Ben had taken "the boy," and Uncle Eb had taken her, Marty's heart was quite broken. For Uncle Ben lived in Shelbyville, miles away, and how would little Tim get along without her?