The girl wrapped a blanket warmly about the child and sat down with him in a chair by the window. The iron of her new chain bade fair to eat into her very soul as she soothed and rocked into forgetfulness of his troubles the beloved little cause of all her perplexities. Why, after all, had she done this thing? Was there not a heavier debt than could be paid in money? And was she not bankrupt still in love and peace? In that hour of darkness all the terrifying consequences of her attempt to break away from Jarvis crowded upon her mind. Unless the person who had paid four thousand dollars for five years of her life could be induced to release her, she must indeed pay heavily for Jimmy’s inheritance. Her baffled thoughts hovered about the unknown personality of this arbiter of her future. “To-morrow,” she thought aloud, “I shall know.” XIV THE blossoms had fallen in showers of fragrant pink and white petals from the wide-spreading boughs of the Preston orchards and already Peg Morrison’s dreams of a great harvest were beginning to show faint promise of fulfilment in long lines of slender green onion shoots; yet Barbara found herself still waiting the summons of her unknown master. Her little trunk, locked and strapped, stood in the closet of her chamber; her shabby travelling cloak, hat, and gloves lay ready for instant use. Each morning she dressed Jimmy, brushed his yellow curls, and saw him off to school with smiles and kisses, not knowing whether he would find her upon his return; and each evening she lavished upon the little boy the hungry affection hoarded for a lonelier night in some distant city. “You love me more’n you used to, don’t you, Barb’ra?” the child asked, puzzled by the look in her eyes. “You kiss me kind o’ hard.” “I always loved you with all my heart, Jimmy,” she answered. “I couldn’t love you any more.” “An’ I love you, Barb’ra,” declared the little boy, “I love you more’n anybody. But,” he added darkly, “I ’spise that Miss Cottle wiv all my insides an’ all my outsides. Make her go ’way, Barb’ra.” “Miss Cottle is a good woman, Jimmy,” the girl told him seriously. “She would take care of you if—I should be obliged to go away.” The child flung himself upon her with an inarticulate cry of protest. “You wouldn’t go away an’ leave me, would you, Barb’ra?” “I shouldn’t want to, precious; but—something—might—happen. You will be a good boy, won’t you, Jimmy? I want you to try and—love Miss Cottle.” The child considered this difficult undertaking in grieved silence for a minute. Then he manfully swallowed something that arose in his throat and threatened to choke him. “I—guess I’ll be pretty good, Barb’ra,” he quavered, “if you want t’ go off an’ take a trip. She said you wanted to take a trip; but I told her you wouldn’t go anywhere an’ leave me. You wouldn’t, would you, Barb’ra?” “Not unless I was forced to,” murmured Barbara, “for your sake, Jimmy; for your sake!” She winked back the tears, smiling resolutely.