“Now, Miss Barb’ry, don’t you worry none. Me an’ the Cap’n an’ Marthy Cottle ’ll git along like three kittens in a basket. You bet we will. I’ll kind o’ humor her, come muddy weather; an’ I’ll see t’ it that she don’t aggravate the Cap’n beyond what he can make out t’ bear. Mebbe it’ll stren’then his char’cter t’ put up with her ways. Viewed in th’ light of a Vallable Inf’mation I shouldn’t wonder if both me an’ the Cap’n ’ud git consid’able profit out o’ the experience, even ef we ain’t exac’ly hankerin’ fer it. Meanwhile the onions is comin’ on famous, likewise the apples. I never see a finer crop o’ young fruit set.” To await the slow unfoldment of events, cultivating the while the cardinal virtues of tranquillity and faith is the task set before each human being; but there are times when the lesson becomes poignantly difficult. As one who awaits the coming of a delayed train endures the unfruitful minutes with scant patience, so Barbara lingered on the verge of her unknown experience, alternately dreading and longing for the summons which would put an end to the painful suspense. She found the days speeding by, gathering themselves into weeks, and the weeks, in their turn, rolling themselves up into months. “I guess you’ve said to me about all there is to be said on the subject of this house and the care of that child,” Miss Cottle observed in tones of exasperation. “I’d never have come when I did if I hadn’t supposed you were going right off. I didn’t bargain to be your hired girl.” And David Whitcomb, who had taken up his quarters in the village inn with the avowed intention of “having it out” with the owner and arbiter of Barbara’s future, expressed himself with still greater frankness on the subject. “Has it occurred to you,” he asked Barbara, “that perhaps you’ll not be sent for at all?” The two were sitting in the long, sweet twilight of a June evening, on the narrow, old-fashioned porch. The giant locusts in front of the house were in full bloom and the clouds of fragrance from their pendant white clusters mingled with the odorous breath of the honeysuckles. There was a whir of humming-bird moths among the vines, and a song-sparrow intent upon feeding her young ones while the daylight lasted darted in and out with anxious glances of her bright eyes. “Hush!” warned Barbara, wincing. “Don’t let Jimmy hear you speak of my going.” “Pooh!” said David; “the little beggar knows all about it. Did you suppose he didn’t?” Barbara looked at him indignantly. “Did you tell him?” “No; but I daresay the Cottle person has. Besides, the auction is town talk. Everybody is wondering, and some are saying—— Do you want me to tell you what old Hewett asked me to-night?” Barbara’s face, burning with shamed crimson, was turned away from his. “No,” she said frigidly. “I don’t want to hear it.” David passed his fingers through his thick, curling hair, with an impatient gesture.