"I'll get it for you," said Louise; and he let her go into the parlor and bring it out to him. She laid, it in a narrow fold over his shoulder; he thanked her carelessly, and she watched him sweep languidly across the buttercupped and dandelioned grass of the meadow-land about the house, to the dark shelter of the pine grove at the north. The sun struck full upon the long levels of the boughs, and kindled their needles to a glistening mass; underneath, the ground was red, and through the warm-looking twilight of the sparse wood the gray canvas of a tent showed; Matt often slept there in the summer, and so the place was called the camp. There was a hammock between two of the trees, just beyond the low stone wall, and Louise saw Maxwell get into it. Matt came out on the piazza in his blue woollen shirt and overalls and high boots, and his cork helmet topping all. "You look like a cultivated cowboy that had gobbled an English tourist, Matt," said his sister. "Have you got anything for me?" Matt had some letters in his hands which the man had just brought up from the post-office. "No; but there are two for Maxwell--" "I will carry them to him, if you're busy. He's just gone over to the camp." "Well, do," said Matt. He gave them to her, and he asked, "How do you think he is, this morning?" "He must be pretty well; he's been writing ever since breakfast." "I wish he hadn't," said Matt. "He ought really to be got away somewhere out of the reach of newspapers. I'll see. Louise, how do you think a girl like Sue Northwick would feel about an outright offer of help at such a time as this?" "How, help? It's very difficult to help people," said Louise, wisely. "Especially when they're not able to help themselves. Poor Sue! I don't know what she _will_ do. If Jack Wilmington--but he never really cared for her, and now I don't believe she cares for him. No, it couldn't be." "No; the idea of love would be sickening to her now." Louise opened her eyes. "Why, I don't know what you mean, Matt. If she still cared for him, I can't imagine any time when she would rather know that he cared for her." "But her pride--wouldn't she feel that she couldn't meet him on equal terms--" "Oh, pride! Stuff! Do you suppose that a girl who really cared for a person would think of the terms she met them on? When it comes to such a thing as that there _is_ no pride; and proud girls and meek girls are just alike--like cats in the dark." "Do you think so?" asked Matt; the sunny glisten, which had been wanting to them before, came into his eyes. "I _know_ so," said Louise. "Why, do you think that Jack Wilmington still--" "No; no. I was just wondering. I think I shall run down to Boston to-morrow, and see father--Or, no! Mother won't be back till to-morrow evening. Well, I will talk with you, at dinner, about it." Matt went off to his mowing, and Louise heard the cackle of his machine before she reached the camp with Maxwell's letters.