“I suppose Nelson Floyd will end up by marrying Evelyn Duncan or some of the Prices,” Mrs. Porter said, significantly, as she fastened her lynx eye on Cynthia's shrinking face. “That seems to be the talk, anyway,” Porter admitted. “She belongs to the doll-faced, bandbox variety. She'd be a nice little trick to dandle on a fellow's knee, but that's about all she'd be good for.” After the meal was over, Mrs. Porter followed Cynthia out into the kitchen, whither the girl was taking a big pan full of soiled dishes. “This ought to make you very careful, Cynthia,” she said. “I don't know what you mean, mother.” The girl looked up coldly. “Well, _I_ know what I mean,” said Mrs. Porter. “People seem to think this will bring about a sort of change in Nelson Floyd's way of living. We are really as good as anybody in this county, but we are poor, and others are rich, and have more social advantages. Evelyn Duncan always has snubbed you girls around here, and no young man has been going in both sets. So far nobody that I know of has talked unkindly about you and Nelson Floyd, but they would be more apt to now than ever. How that thing about the mill ever escaped--” “Mother, don't bring that up again!” Cynthia said, almost fiercely. “I have heard enough of it. I can't stand any more.” “Well, you know what I mean, and you have my warning,” said Mrs. Porter, sternly, “and that's all I can do. As good and respectable a young man as ever lived wants to marry you, and the worst rake in the county has been paying you questionable attentions. The first thing you know, Mr. Hillhouse will get disgusted, and--” But Cynthia had left her work and gone out into the yard. With a face quite pale and set, she went through the orchard, climbed over the brier-grown rail-fence, and crossed the field and pasture to Pole Baker's house. Mrs. Baker, pale and bedraggled, with a ten-months-old baby on her arm, stood on the little porch of the cottage. At her feet the other children were playing. “You've heard o' my trouble, I kin see that,” the married woman said, as the girl opened the gate. “Come in out o' the sun.” “Yes, I've heard,” said Cynthia, “and I came as soon as I could.” They went into the poorly furnished bedroom, with its bare floor belittered with the playthings of the children, and sat down in the straight-backed, rockerless chairs. “You mustn't notice the way things look,” sighed Mrs. Baker. “The truth is, Cynthia, I haven't had the heart to lay my hand to a thing. Pole's been away three nights and three days now, and I don't know what has happened to him. He's quick tempered and gets into quarrels when he's drinkin'. He may be in jail in Darley, or away off some'rs on the railroad.” “I know, I know,” said Cynthia. “Let me hold the baby; you look as if you are about to drop.”