"Well, it’s this way, Mamsey. I don’t cry any more because I can’t remember. I begin with you and me. You see what I don’t remember is like the preface in a book; I never read it and it doesn’t matter, anyway. So we begin—you and I, and everyone is supposed to know about us without telling; and the things that happened before are just helps to get us into the first chapter. Then, after that, folks come along and we don’t ask them any questions, they just get mixed up with our story and on we all go until that stupid old word End, brings us up with a jolt. Mamsey, dear, I want to get all tangled with stories and stories and people and people; I want to be part of it. I’m willing to pay, you have to, all the books show that. I’ll suffer and struggle along, and fall and get up again, but I must be part of it all." Jo had drawn a full needle out, leaving all the helpless stitches gaping. "Lord!" she murmured under her breath, and at the moment decided to go to Father Mantelle on the morrow and get what help she could. Aloud she said, quite calmly, very tenderly for her, poor soul: "I wish you’d take that old book," it was the one Langley had given her; there was no name or date in it, "and read me some of those verses that sort of make you feel good, good and—sleepy." "I just love this," Donelle said, quick to fall into Jo’s mood: The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry Of bugles going by. And my lonely spirit thrills To the frosty asters like smoke upon the hills. "Why, you don’t like the words? Your eyes are wet, Mamsey!" "I’m tired, my eyes ache with the knitting and weaving. The winter always gets me." Jo was gathering up her work. "We must go to bed, child. I’m glad spring is coming and we can work in the open." But Donelle was singing, to a tune of her own, other lines of the interrupted poem: And my heart is like a rhyme With the yellow and the purple keeping time. *CHAPTER VIII* *THE PRIEST AND THE ROAD MENDER* The following day was warm. Jo went to the upper pasture early in the day to make plans for the spring sowing. It was a day full of promise; winter seemed almost a memory. Donelle had been left to finish the work about the house. It should have taken her until Jo returned, but things flew through the girl’s hands, she was so eager to get out of doors. She sang and gavotted with Nick who, by the way, had sneaked into hiding rather than make a choice as to whether he should follow Jo or remain with Donelle. When he came forth all responsibility was ended. He remained with Donelle! "Nick," she said presently, "how would you like to take a walk?" A frantic thump gave proof of Nick’s feelings. "All right, come on! We’ve got to find folks if folks won’t find us, Nick. I’m pretty nearly starved to death for folks!"