Ezra laughed. “No, no, they’re too fine for this journey; the old ones are good enough. I’ll save them for special occasions--more christenings, perhaps!” He laughed again, slyly, kissed her close, and went out of the door with a backward wave of the hand. Granny hobbled to the threshold and watched him over Polly’s shoulder. “There, he’s turned to wave again. What a foolish, loving, dear lad it is! Answer him, girl, quick! You might never see him more.” She checked herself. “Whatever am I croaking about? Such days are gone.” Polly waved a listless hand, closed the door, looked a moment at the moccasins on the shelf, and seated herself at the spinning wheel. “Now you’ve shut the door, and shut out all the light with it,” Granny said rather testily. “’Tis nearly dark, and candles are skeerce. Besides, the sunset’s pretty, I like to watch it. Let the door stay open!” “Too pretty. It hurts,” said the girl very low, her hand at her breast. Granny looked at her curiously. “Humph! You’re over young to be having a sunset hurt you, my dear.” Polly, at the spinning wheel, was having rather poor success. The thread broke. “Here, let me show you!” Granny spoke impatiently. “Steady, no jerking--why, have you forgotten _everything_ your poor mother taught you before the savages got her? Poor Annie! A fool woman, but a fine hand at the spinning and weaving. Eh, what’s this--tears? I’ve not seen you cry before.” She gathered the girl’s head against her breast, her voice softening. “There, there, was it because I spoke of your mother, and that terrible time? You were so young, I thought maybe you didn’t remember. Polly! _Do_ you remember?” Polly shook her head, uncertainly. “Then, what is wrong? Come, my dearie, tell it out, my lamb! That’s what Grannies are for. ’Tain’t much they haven’t come to understand----” Polly said, in a very low voice, “The moccasins--” Granny laughed aloud, relieved but sympathetic. “Is that all? Because he didn’t wear ’em, you mean, didn’t seem to appreciate them? Lord love you, that’s a man all over. He didn’t realize, pet, he didn’t know you wanted him to show off well before all those men at the Court meeting. But he appreciated the moccasins just the same, appreciated most of all the love you put into ’em. Polly! It _was_ love you put into ’em, wa’n’t it?” The girl paused a moment before answering, slowly: “I do not know. He is kind, beautiful---- It might be--if--if----” “If!” repeated Granny. “If? Then in heaven’s name _why ain’t it_?” The girl gave her a queer, beseeching look, and did not answer. “Eh, well,” sighed the old woman, “’tis your own business, sure! Reckon I’m getting to be a right meddlesome old fool.” * * * * *