By Shore and Sedge | Page 7

in the tone in which this was offered that lifted
her for an instant out of her narrower self. She raised her eyes to his.
The personal abstraction of the devotee had no place in the deep dark
eyes that were lifted from the cradle to hers with a sad, discriminating,
and almost womanly sympathy. Surprised out of her selfish
preoccupation, she was reminded of her apparent callousness to what
might be his present disappointment. Perhaps it seemed strange to her,
too, that those tender eyes should go a-begging.
"Yer takin' a Christian view of yer own disappointment, Brother
Gideon," she said, with less astringency of manner; "but every heart
knoweth its own sorrer. I'll be gettin' supper now that the baby's sleepin'
sound, and ye'll sit by and eat."
"If you let me help you, Sister Hiler," said the young man with a
cheerfulness that belied any overwhelming heart affection, and
awakened in the widow a feminine curiosity as to his real feelings to
Meely. But her further questioning was met with a frank, amiable, and
simple brevity that was as puzzling as the most artful periphrase of tact.
Accustomed as she was to the loquacity of grief and the confiding
prolixity of disappointed lovers, she could not understand her guest's
quiescent attitude. Her curiosity, however, soon gave way to the
habitual contemplation of her own sorrows, and she could not forego
the opportune presence of a sympathizing auditor to whom she could
relieve her feelings. The preparations for the evening meal were
therefore accompanied by a dreary monotone of lamentation. She
bewailed her lost youth, her brief courtship, the struggles of her early
married life, her premature widowhood, her penurious and helpless
existence, the disruption of all her present ties, the hopelessness of the
future. She rehearsed the unending plaint of those long evenings, set to
the music of the restless wind around her bleak dwelling, with

something of its stridulous reiteration. The young man listened, and
replied with softly assenting eyes, but without pausing in the material
aid that he was quietly giving her. He had removed the cradle of the
sleeping child to the bedroom, quieted the sudden wakefulness of
"Pinkey," rearranged the straggling furniture of the sitting-room with
much order and tidiness, repaired the hinges of a rebellious shutter and
the lock of an unyielding door, and yet had apparently retained an
unabated interest in her spoken woes. Surprised once more into
recognizing this devotion, Sister Hiler abruptly arrested her monologue.
"Well, if you ain't the handiest man I ever seed about a house!"
"Am I?" said Gideon, with suddenly sparkling eyes. "Do you really
think so?"
"I do."
"Then you don't know how glad I am." His frank face so unmistakably
showed his simple gratification that the widow, after gazing at him for
a moment, was suddenly seized with a bewildering fancy. The first
effect of it was the abrupt withdrawal of her eyes, then a sudden
effusion of blood to her forehead that finally extended to her
cheekbones, and then an interval of forgetfulness where she remained
with a plate held vaguely in her hand. When she succeeded at last in
putting it on the table instead of the young man's lap, she said in a voice
quite unlike her own,--
"Sho!"
"I mean it," said Gideon, cheerfully. After a pause, in which he
unostentatiously rearranged the table which the widow was abstractedly
disorganizing, he said gently, "After tea, when you're not so much
flustered with work and worry, and more composed in spirit, we'll have
a little talk, Sister Hiler. I'm in no hurry to-night, and if you don't mind
I'll make myself comfortable in the barn with my blanket until sun-up
to-morrow. I can get up early enough to do some odd chores round the
lot before I go."
"You know best, Brother Gideon," said the widow, faintly, "and if you
think it's the Lord's will, and no speshal trouble to you, so do. But sakes
alive! it's time I tidied myself a little," she continued, lifting one hand
to her hair, while with the other she endeavored to fasten a buttonless
collar; "leavin' alone the vanities o' dress, it's ez much as one can do to
keep a clean rag on with the children climbin' over ye. Sit by, and I'll be

back in a minit." She retired to the back room, and in a few moments
returned with smoothed hair and a palm-leaf broche shawl thrown over
her shoulders, which not only concealed the ravages made by time and
maternity on the gown beneath, but to some extent gave her the
suggestion of being a casual visitor in her own household. It must be
confessed that for the rest of the evening Sister Hiler rather lent herself
to this idea, possibly