Ann kept her purpose closely to herself during the morning, working feverishly over the tasks Sue set her, her cheeks vivid, as were Sue's. Her grandfather was very silent. He sat with his Bible on his knee, as was his custom on Sunday morning, his thin body bent over it, his white hair hiding his face; but Ann saw him look up once as Sue passed him, moving quickly and energetically. It was a long intent look he gave her, his eyes, always vividly blue, brighter and keener than Ann ever remembered seeing them. His lips, the sunken mouth of an old and broken man, shook. He loved Sue, Ann knew that well; he often watched her at work, but with lips tight set, as if in pain; now they trembled. Coats would be bringing Sue deliverance from toil. Ann stole off in plenty of time to the Back Road. She had waited almost an hour before Baird came upon her. She saw him when he was some distance away, but it occurred to her that he was probably Garvin Westmore, and from him she had no desire to run; she wanted to tell him that her father was coming. When she saw who it was she hid herself. Crouched in the creek, she watched Baird's pause and close scrutiny of his surroundings. When he was about to dismount, she was frightened; when he rode on, she was a little disappointed, and yet she wanted him away. Ann did not leave her hiding place until she was certain that Baird was well on his way to the club; then she went back to her post. And when she saw a man coming across the pastures, she forgot Baird, everything; it was her father, come at last. She watched him with the blood throbbing in her ears, a heavily-built man, not thin and sharp-featured like most of the Pennimans, yet with the Penniman look about him. She had waited eagerly enough, but with each step that brought him nearer, her terror of what might be held her back; she did not stand out where she could be seen until her father had nearly reached her. When she came out suddenly from behind the undergrowth that screened her, they were only a few yards apart, and Coats Penniman stopped on a forward step, stood quite still. Ann saw the spasm that crossed his face, lifting his brows and widening his eyes. She thought that she had startled him; he did not know who she was. "It's Ann, father--" she said, with a quivering smile. "I--I came to meet you--" His face changed, settled into deep lines about his mouth, into wrinkles about his eyes, the look of her grandfather upon him--until he smiled, though it was more a twitching of the muscles in his cheeks than an actual smile. "Ann--" He drew an audible breath. "I--wasn't expecting it--" He came to her, for Ann stood rooted; no volition of hers could have brought her an inch nearer to that look of her grandfather, covered by that painful smile. "So you came to meet me?" He put his hands on her shoulders. "It's fourteen years since I saw you--you have grown up--child."