"You are," Tom answered, ruefully. "Here you suddenly change to a young woman on a man's hands. Now, what am I to do with a grown-up young woman? I'm used to babies, and teething, and swallowing kangaroos out of Noah's arks--and I know something of measles and letting tucks out of frocks; but when it comes to a beautiful young woman, there you have me!" He shook his head as he ended, and, though his face wore the affectionate, humorous smile which had never failed her, there was a new element in its kindness which, it must be confessed, bordered on bewilderment. "A beautiful, grown-up young woman," he said, glancing reflectively over her soft, swaying slimness, her white frock with its purple ribbon and golden jonquils, and up to her tender cheek. Sheba blushed with sweet delight. "Am I beautiful, Uncle Tom?" she inquired, with a lovely anxiousness in her eyes. "Yes, you are," admitted Tom; "and it isn't a drawback to you, Sheba, but it's likely to make trouble for me." "But why?" she said. "In novels, and poetry, and sometimes in real life, beautiful young women are fallen in love with, and then trouble is liable to begin," explained Tom with amiable gravity. "There is no one to fall in love with me at the Cross-roads," said Sheba, sweetly. "I wish there was." "Good Lord," exclaimed Tom, devoutly. "Come along to church, Sheba, and let's go in for fasting and prayer." He took her to the "preaching" in the log cabin and noticed the effect of her entry on the congregation as they went in. There were a number of more or less awkward and raw-boned young male creatures whose lives were spent chiefly in cornfields and potato patches. They were uncomely hewers of wood and drawers of water, but they turned their heads to look at her, and their eyes followed her as she went to her seat. When she had sat down, those who could catch glimpses of her involuntarily craned their necks and sat in discomfort until the sermon was over. Tom recognised this fact, and in secret reflected upon it in all its bearings. "Yes," he found himself saying, mentally; "I'd like to know how I'm going to do my duty by _this_. I don't believe there's a derned thing about it in 'Advice to Young Mothers.'" The day wore on to its lovely end, and lost itself in one of the sunsets which seem to flood the sky with a tide of ripples of melted gold, here and there tipped with flame. When this was over, a clear, fair moon hung lighted in the heavens, and, flooding with silver what had been flooded with gold, changed the flame-tips to pearl.