She understood him instantly. As the door swung a little ajar she looked back over her shoulder through the shed-room into the main room of the cabin. Binwell was not there; no one was visible in the ruddy glare of the fire illuminating the brown walls but the little Rosamond and the blind man. She had elected to consider herself some neighing, prancing steed, and Abner held her by one long, golden curl, that served as reins. A short tether, to be sure, but she curveted, and stamped, and laughed as few horses have ever done. The reflection of her merriment was in the smile on the blind man’s face. Her very shadow was glad, as it sported with the firelight on the floor. VI. There is nothing so conducive to happiness as work—work done well and willingly. It is in itself happiness. Ike wondered to find, as he bent his mind and all his energy to his simple tasks—grown strangely light and seeming few—how little he suffered from his exclusion from his friend’s society and from the unjust discrimination made against him for no fault of his; how amply his duty filled his horizon, and presently arrayed itself in the glad garb of pleasure. He sang—he could but sing—as he wielded the axe, as he fed the stock, as he went back and forth on his errands through the lonely woods, sometimes hearing the voice of Keedon Bluffs singing too, in fitful and fugue-like response. Nevertheless, he was glad enough to be reassured of his friend’s loyalty in their enforced separation, for when they presently met by accident Skimpy seized upon him eagerly, “Ye ain’t holdin’ no gredge ag’in _me_, air ye, Ike? I couldn’t holp it; ye know I couldn’t.”