Just now Elizabeth Farnshaw was going home with something akin to fear in her heart. She rated herself soundly for the useless advice she had thrust upon her mother and for the entangling difficulties which her thoughtless words had produced. That the union of her parents was unclean, that it was altogether foul and by far worse than a divorce, she still felt confident, but she saw that her mother was totally unable to comprehend the difference between a clean separate life and the nagging poison dealt out as daily bread to the husband with whom she lived; but she saw that because of that very inability to understand the difference, the mother must be left to find the light in her own way. In her desire to help, Elizabeth had but increased her mother's burdens, and she tried to assume an attitude of added tenderness toward her in her own mind, and puckered her young face into a frown as she let Patsie limp slowly from one low hill to another. "I'll do everything I can to square the deal for ma," she resolved, but in her heart there was a sick suspicion that all she could do was not much, and that it had small chance really to avail. Elizabeth had started early for home, but the sun rode high in the heavens before she arrived. Albert, who was herding the cattle on the short grass a half mile from home, warned her as she passed that she would do well to hurry to the house. "Pa waited for you to do the milking, Bess, an' you didn't come. He's mad as a hornet, an' You'll have t' bring th' cows out after he gets through." It was a friendly warning. To be milking at that hour, when all the men in the neighbourhood were already following plow and harrow, was an important matter on the farm. Plainly it had been arranged to make Elizabeth feel a hindrance to the business of getting in the crops, and it was with increased apprehension that she approached home. The storm broke as soon as she was within hailing distance. "It's time you brought that horse home, young lady. You see to it that it's harnessed for th' drag as quick as ever you can. Next time you get a horse You'll know it." When Elizabeth started on and Mr. Farnshaw saw that Patsie was lame his anger knew no bounds, and the sound of his exasperated voice could have been heard half a mile away as he poured out a stream of vituperation. Elizabeth dodged into the barn as soon as its friendly door could be reached, thankful that the cows were as far as they were from it. Joe was harnessing a team in the far corner. "You better shy around pa, Sis; and get t' th' house," he cautioned. "All right. He told me to harness Patsie, but she's so lame I know she can't work--what will I do?" "If she can't work, she can't. How did it happen?" "She strained herself just before I got to Mr. Chamberlain's. I was passing a young man by the name of Hunter and she fell flat. Say, do you know anything about Mr. Hunter?"