She tended Jarlsen more and more, and the friendliness Martha showed toward her pleased her mightily. She would take her to the Swede’s bed and show her how his looks were coming back, and then, forgetful of her presence, would stand in silent wonder at the expression of wisdom fast becoming habitual to him. He seemed to know more of what was, and is, and is to be, than any of the people she had seen, and he had not seemed so wise when he had lips wherewith to speak wisely. For a half hour and more she would sometimes watch him, unconscious of time, and at last a fit of longing, like a mother’s, would bend her to him. Anxious for his thoughts, she would put her hand on his temple as if feeling for them. He would smile and say “Emma”; then her blushes would come as they had when he was a bright mystery to her, because she dared not raise her eyes to his face; and she took the utterance of her name as an answer to her craving. Quarry and her father had become cares she could not shoulder; she simply could not think of them. Quarry never returned from work without company, and he and his friends would sit in the yard on Emma’s chairs, which they carried from the kitchen without her permission. In a man she liked, this proceeding might have been annoying; but from Quarry it was a liberty that was enraging. One day Emma heard him stirring up strife with his tongue; he was a fascinating speaker, even when--as the Swedes said--he “talked beside his mouth,” which is their idiom for conversational embellishment. She called him to her. “Send them away,” she said shortly. Without a word of dissent he made them move, and Mr. Butte shambled out to bring in the chairs. “Take them in yourself,” she called wickedly. “You was strong enough to get them out there.” With a more sullen compliance he put them just within the narrow doorsill. Still she eyed him with her mouth stretched into something like a smile. “Put ’em in their places,” she said. Again Quarry obeyed her. Then her contemptuous smile became laughter. “You wouldn’t hev done thet ef you hedn’t got wind of what I’m goin’ to even to you. See here--you talk too much. Would you talk less if you had more money? I guess maybe. Here’s what you said at Martha Long’s party. You showed how it was a good thing August Jarlsen got the blast, because I kind o’ leaned toward you latterly. And as for you, you says you’d always leaned toward me, and it was better to have August Jarlsen saved learnin’ it.” The girl covered him with her tragic eyes, and expressed her own strong instinct in a gesture she had learned from the Polacks--she crossed herself with a rapid hand. She had never before felt Quarry to be so evil. “Now,” she said, “fifty dollars if you’ll stop that!” For a moment delight leaped from his eyes. He threw out his hand; then he looked at her darkly, his expression altered to one of fear and misgiving. “All right,” he said finally.