M'rye deliberately took another stocking from the heap in the basket, fitted it over the ball, and began a fresh task—all without a glance at the weeping girl. Thus the two women still sat, when Janey came in to lay the table for supper. She lifted the lamp off to spread the cloth, and put it on again; she brought in plates and knives and spoons, and arranged them in their accustomed places—all the while furtively regarding Miss Hagadorn with an incredulous surprise. When she had quite finished she went over to her mistress and, bending low, whispered so that we could all hear quite distinctly: “Is _she_ goin' to stay to supper?” M'rye hesitated, but Esther lifted her head and put down the handkerchief instantly. “Oh, no!” she said, eagerly: “don't think of it! I must hurry home as soon as I've seen Mr. Beech.” Janey went out with an obvious air of relief. Presently there was a sound of heavy boots out in the kitchen being thrown on to the floor, and then Abner came in. He halted in the doorway, his massive form seeming to completely fill it, and devoted a moment or so to taking in the novel spectacle of a neighbor under his roof. Then he advanced, walking obliquely till he could see distinctly the face of the visitor. It stands to reason that he must have been surprised, but he gave no sign of it. “How d' do, Miss,” he said, with grave politeness, coming up and offering her his big hand. Esther rose abruptly, peony-red with pleasurable confusion, and took the hand stretched out to her. “How d' do, Mr. Beech,” she responded with eagerness, “I—I came up to see you—a—about something that's very pressing.” “It's blowing up quite a gale outside,” the farmer remarked, evidently to gain time the while he scanned her face in a solemn, thoughtful way, noting, I doubt not, the swollen eyelids and stains of tears, and trying to guess her errand. “Shouldn't wonder if we had a foot o' snow before morning.” The school-teacher seemed in doubt how best to begin what she had to say, so that Abner had time, after he lifted his inquiring gaze from her, to run a master's eye over the table. “Have Janey lay another place!” he said, with authoritative brevity. As M'rye rose to obey, Esther broke forth: “Oh, no, please don't! Thank you so much, Mr. Beech—but really I can't stop—truly, I mustn't think of it.” The farmer merely nodded a confirmation of his order to M'rye, who hastened out to the kitchen. “It'll be there for ye, anyway,” he said. “Now set down again, please.” It was all as if he was the one who had the news to tell, so naturally did he take command of the situation. The girl seated herself, and the farmer drew up his armchair and planted himself before her, keeping his stockinged feet under the rungs for politeness' sake.