But this only hurt her, because she remembered that when she had said it before she had had an idol which now lay shattered, as the petals of the cotton-blossom which she had plucked and thrown away. Then the breeze sprang up again and with it, borne on it, came the click--click--click of a hammer tapping a rock. It was a small gladey valley through which a gulley ran. Boulders cropped out here and there, and haws, red and white elms, and sassafras grew and shaded it. Down in the gulch, not a hundred yards from her, she saw a pair of broad shoulders overtopped by a rusty summer hat--the worse for a full season's wear. Around the shoulders was strung a leathern satchel, and she could see that the person beneath the hat was closely inspecting the rocks he chipped off and put into the satchel. Then his hammer rang out again. She sat and watched him and listened to the tap of his hammer half sadly--half amused. Harry Travis had crushed her as she had never been crushed before in her life, and the pride in a woman which endureth a fall is not to be trifled with afterwards. She grew calmer--even quiet. The old spirit returned. She knew that she had never been as beautiful in her life, as now--just now--in the halo of the sunset shining on her hair and reflected in the rare old gown she wore. The person with the leathern satchel was oblivious of everything but his work. The old straw hat bobbed energetically--the big shoulders nodded steadily beneath it. She watched him silently a few minutes and then she called out pleasantly: "You do seem to be very busy, Clay!" He stopped and looked up. Then he took off his hat and, awkwardly bowing, wiped his brow, broad, calm and self-reliant, and a deliberate smile spread over his face. Everything he did was deliberate. The smile began in the large friendly mouth and spread in kindred waves upward until it flashed out from his kindly blue eyes, through the heavy double-lens glasses that covered them. Without a word he picked up the last rock he had broken off and put it into his satchel. Very deliberate, too, was his walk up the hill toward the grape arbor, mopping his brow as he came along--a brow big and full of cause and effect and of quiet deductions and deliberate conclusions. His coat was seedy, his trousers bagged at the knees, his shoes were old, and there were patches on them, but his collar and linen were white and very much starched, and his awkward, shambling gait was honest to the last footfall. A world of depth and soul was in his strong, fine face, lit up now with an honest, humble smile, but, at rest, full of quiet dignity. He shuffled along and sat down in a big brotherly way by the girl's side. She sat still, looking at him with a half amused smile on her lips. He smiled back at her abstractedly. She could see that he had not yet really seen her. He was looking thoughtfully across at the hill beyond: