It was such a perfectly normal arrangement that Hugh Noland did not guess that there was anything new in it. He drove away with a feeling of disappointment because he had been unable to draw her into conversation on the way over. She had proven herself a good conversationalist at meals and he looked forward to a time when he would be a permanent part of that household. Luther and Silas had been right. Here was the partner he was looking for if he could only make himself appreciated. He had laid out every faculty and put it to the best use for that purpose and had been a bit disconcerted to have her suddenly become uncommunicative. Nathan was at the barn; he saw them stop and recognized his visitor. "Humph!" he snorted in disgust. However, a man could not leave a woman with a baby in her arms standing on his doorstep on a raw February day. "How do you do, Uncle Nate?" the girl said timidly as soon as he was near enough to accost. Nathan's greeting was short and inhospitable. He did not offer to shake hands, nor pretend to see the hand she extended to him. Instead, he opened the door and invited her gruffly to enter. Closing the door behind them, he went to the stove and began to stir the fire industriously. Elizabeth saw that she must have the difficulty over at once or her courage would wilt. Setting Jack on the floor, she went to Nathan and put her hand on his arm detainingly. "You have fire enough, Uncle Nate. Let me talk to you." "Well?" he said briefly. The girl was staggered by the nature of her reception. It was worse than she had expected. Luther Hansen's estimate of the real situation had been only too right. She stood before Nathan Hornby trembling and disconcerted by the wall of his silence. The old kitchen clock ticked loudly, she could hear her own pulses, and the freshly stirred fire roared--roared in a rusty and unpolished stove. Dust lay thick on the unswept floor. Nathan needed her. She would win her way back to his heart. "Uncle Nate, I don't blame you one bit if you aren't nice to me. I haven't deserved it, but----" "I guess you needn't 'Uncle Nate' me any more," he said when she paused. His speech was bitter and full of animosity, but it was better than his compelling silence. "I don't blame you one bit for being mad at me----I should think you would be. I don't know what I'm going to say to you either, but I've come to beg your forgiveness," she stammered. Nathan Hornby did not speak, but waited coldly for her to continue. There was plainly no help offered her. "I--I can't explain, Uncle Nate--I am going to call you so--you--you shall not put me away. I have come for your forgiveness and--and I'm going to stay till I get it. I--I can't explain--there--there are things in life that we can't explain, but I'm innocent of this stuck-up business you think I've had. I--I've loved you and Aunt Susan. Oh, Uncle Nate, I've loved her better than I ever did my own mother," she ended with a sob.