"Well, what next?" said Miss Palmyra, fretfully, peering out of the window and trying to gain a sight of the intruder. "I sh'd like to know who's at that pump without askin' leave or license. I left the pail out there, too, didn't I? Like as not it'll go, same as the hen did. I must get up!"--she made a motion to rise, but sank back with a groan. "My Land! Have I got to sit here and have my things stole without liftin' a finger?" At the same moment she heard quick steps crossing the yard: the door opened, and a man entered, carrying a brimming pail of water. Miss Palmyra opened her mouth to shriek, but closed it again when the stranger smiled. "Good eve!" said the man, who had black curls, gold rings in his ears, and the brightest eyes that ever were seen. "I come to do ze work." "Work!" ejaculated Miss Palmyra, faintly. "Ze shores!" explained the man, with a brilliant flash of eyes and teeth. "You have hurt ze foot? So peety! Look! I fill ze kettel--so! I bring ze wood--so!" (He was gone, and back again with an armful of wood before Miss Palmyra could trust her bewildered senses enough to know whether she was awake or dreaming.) "I fill up ze stofe--so! And next? It is a cow zat you haf? I milk her!" He swept a glance around the kitchen, seized with unerring instinct the right pail, and was gone again. Miss Palmyra pinched herself, and opened and shut her eyes several times. "I wonder if I'm goin' crazy!" she said. "I feel kinder light-headed." She looked at the cat, who blinked quietly in return, and his calm air of tranquillity steadied her nerves. "If he'd been a tramp, he wouldn't ha' brought in that wood!" she said. "Would he, Eben?" The cat was named Ebenezer. Ebenezer purred assurance, and Miss Palmyra's spirits rose. "Like as not he's stayin' with some o' the neighbours!" she said. "Mis' Brewster's real kind: mebbe this is her nephew she was expectin', and she sent him in to help me. Well, I'm sure!" She twitched a little shawl over the carpet-slipper, and settled her neat collar and apron. When the stranger returned, beaming over the brimming milk-pail, she was able to greet him with "Well, you're real obligin', I must say. I didn't hardly know what I should do about milkin', for I can't seem to put my foot to the ground. Stayin' at Mis' Brewster's, be ye?" "No!" with a flash which illuminated the kitchen. "Not zere. Where he live, ze milk? Zis door?" Miss Palmyra indicated the pantry door, where the yellow pans stood ready and waiting. She listened keenly for a sound of spilling or dripping, but none came; only a steady, even pouring. "He's a real good hand!" she murmured. "And now?" the dark eyes smiled on her again. "You lame, I get your sopper. What you like?" "Oh,--no, sir, you can't do that!" cried Miss Palmyra. "I'm jist as obliged, I assure _you_, but I sha'n't want nothin' more to-night. I had a good dinner. Well, I'm sure!"