The look of gratitude which Mary's eyes flashed upon him, more than compensated for the frown which darkened Mrs. Grundy's brow as she slammed the doors together, muttering about "hen-hussies minding their own business." Mary was not called down to finish the dishes, and when at last she went to the kitchen for milk, she found them all washed and put away. Mrs. Grundy was up to her elbow in cheese curd, and near her, tied into an arm chair, sat Patsy, nodding her head and smiling as usual. The pleasant looking woman was mopping the kitchen floor, and Mary, for the first time, noticed that she was very lame. "Go out doors and come round. Don't you see you'll track the floor all up?" said Mrs. Grundy, and the lame woman replied, "Never mind, Polly, I can easy wipe up her tracks, and it's a pity to send her out in the rain." Mary chose to obey Mrs. Grundy, who wiped the crumbs of curd and drops of whey from her arms and took the cup, saying, "More milk? Seems to me she eats a cart load! I wonder where the butter's to come from, if we dip into the cream this way." Had Mary been a little older, she might have doubted whether the blue looking stuff Mrs. Grundy poured into her cup ever saw any cream, but she was only too thankful to get it on any terms, and hurried with it back to her room. About noon the clouds broke away, while here and there a patch of bright blue sky was to be seen. But the roads were so muddy that Mary had no hope of Billy's coming, and this it was, perhaps, which made the dinner dishes so hard to wash, and which made her cry when told that all the knives and forks must be scoured, the tea-kettle wiped, and set with its nose to the north, in what Mrs. Grundy called the "Pout Hole," and which proved to be a place under the stairs, where pots, kettles and iron ware generally were kept. All things have an end, and so did the scouring, in spite of Mary's fears to the contrary, and then watching a time when Mrs. Grundy did not see her, she stole away up stairs. Taking Alice on her lap she sat down by the open window where the damp air cooled and moistened her flushed face. The rain was over, and across the meadow the sun was shining through the tall trees, making the drops of water which hung upon the leaves sparkle and flash in the sunlight like so many tiny rainbows. Mary watched them for a time, and then looking upward at the thin white clouds which chased each other so rapidly across the blue sky, wondered if her mother's home were there, and if she ever thought of her children, so sad and lonely without her. A movement of Alice aroused her from her reverie, and looking into the road, she saw directly opposite the house Billy Bender, and with him, Alice's cradle. In a moment Mary's arms were thrown about his neck as tightly as if she thought he had the power and was come to take her away. "Oh, Billy, Billy," she said, "I was afraid you would not come, and it made me so unhappy. Can't you take me home with you?"