"She was dreadful hard to get along with, and I used to hate her

like poison," confessed Emma Jane; "but I am sorry now. She was
kinder toward the last, anyway, and then, you see children know

so little! We never suspected she was sick or that she was
worrying over that lost interest money."

"That's the trouble. People seem hard and unreasonable and
unjust, and we can't help being hurt at the time, but if they die

we forget everything but our own angry speeches; somehow we never
remember theirs. And oh, Emma Jane, there's another such a sweet

little picture out there in the road. The next day after I came
to Riverboro, do you remember, I stole out of the brick house

crying, and leaned against the front gate. You pushed your little
fat pink-and-white face through the pickets and said: Don't cry!

I'll kiss you if you will me!'"
Lumps rose suddenly in Emma Jane's throat, and she put her arm

around Rebecca's waist as they sat together side by side.
"Oh, I do remember," she said in a choking voice. "And I can see

the two of us driving over to North Riverboro and selling soap to
Mr. Adam Ladd; and lighting up the premiumbanquet lamp at the

Simpson party; and laying the daisies round Jacky Winslow's
mother when she was dead in the cabin; and trundling Jacky up and

down the street in our old baby carriage!"
"And I remember you," continued Rebecca, "being chased down the

hill by Jacob Moody, when we were being Daughters of Zion and you
had been chosen to convert him!"

"And I remember you, getting the flag back from Mr. Simpson; and
how you looked when you spoke your verses at the flag-raising."

"And have you forgotten the week I refused to speak to Abijah
Flagg because he fished my turban with the porcupine quills out

of the river when I hoped at last that I had lost it! Oh, Emma
Jane, we had dear good times together in the little harbor.'"

"I always thought that was an elegantcomposition of yours--that
farewell to the class," said Emma Jane.

"The strong tide bears us on, out of the little harbor of
childhood into the unknown seas," recalled Rebecca. "It is

bearing you almost out of my sight, Emmy, these last days, when
you put on a new dress in the afternoon and look out of the

window instead of coming across the street. Abijah Flagg never
used to be in the little harbor with the rest of us; when did he

first sail in, Emmy?"
Emma Jane grew a deeper pink and her button-hole of a mouth

quivered with delicious excitement.
"It was last year at the seminary, when he wrote me his first

Latin letter from Limerick Academy," she said in a half whisper.
"I remember," laughed Rebecca. "You suddenly began the study of

the dead languages, and the Latin dictionary took the place of
the crochetneedle in your affections. It was cruel of you never

to show me that letter, Emmy!"
"I know every word of it by heart," said the blushing Emma Jane,

"and I think I really ought to say it to you, because it's the
only way you will ever know how perfectlyelegant Abijah is. Look

the other way, Rebecca. Shall I have to translate it for you, do
you think, because it seems to me I could not bear to do that!"

"It depends upon Abijah's Latin and your pronunciation," teased
Rebecca. "Go on; I will turn my eyes toward the orchard."

The Fair Emmajane, looking none too old still for the "little
harbor," but almost too young for the "unknown seas," gathered up

her courage and recited like a tremulousparrot the boyish love
letter that had so fired her youthful imagination.

"Vale, carissima, carissima puella!" repeated Rebecca in her
musical voice. "Oh, how beautiful it sounds! I don't wonder it

altered your feeling for Abijah! Upon my word, Emma Jane," she
cried with a sudden change of tone, "if I had suspected for an

instant that Abijah the Brave had that Latin letter in him I
should have tried to get him to write it to me; and then it would

be I who would sit down at my mahogany desk and ask Miss Perkins
to come to tea with Mrs. Flagg."

Emma Jane paled and shuddered openly. "I speak as a church
member, Rebecca," she said, "when I tell you I've always thanked

the Lord that you never looked at Abijah Flagg and he never
looked at you. If either of you ever had, there never would have

been a chance for me, and I've always known it!"
II

The romance alluded to in the foregoing chapter had been going
on, so far as Abijah Flagg's part of it was concerned, for many

years, his affection dating back in his own mind to the first
moment that he saw Emma Jane Perkins at the age of nine.

Emma Jane had shown no sign of reciprocating his attachment until
the last three years, when the evolution of the chore-boy into

the budding scholar and man of affairs had inflamed even her
somewhat dull imagination.

Squire Bean's wife had taken Abijah away from the poorhouse,
thinking that she could make him of some little use in her home.

Abbie Flagg, the mother, was neither wise nor beautiful; it is to
be feared that she was not even good, and her lack of all these

desirable qualities, particularly the last one, had been
impressed upon the child ever since he could remember. People

seemed to blame him for being in the world at all; this world
that had not expected him nor desired him, nor made any provision

for him. The great battle-axe of poorhouse opinion was forever
leveled at the mere little atom of innocent transgression, until

he grew sad and shy, clumsy, stiff, and self-conscious. He had an
indomitable craving for love in his heart and had never received

a caress in his life.
He was more contented when he came to Squire Bean's house. The

first year he could only pick up chips, carry pine wood into the
kitchen, go to the post-office, run errands, drive the cows, and

feed the hens, but every day he grew more and more useful.
His only friend was little Jim Watson, the storekeeper's son, and

they were inseparable companions whenever Abijah had time for
play.

One never-to-be-forgotten July day a new family moved into the
white cottage between Squire Bean's house and the Sawyers'. Mr.

Perkins had sold his farm beyond North Riverboro and had
established a blacksmith's shop in the village, at the Edgewood

end of the bridge. This fact was of no special interest to the
nine-year-old Abijah, but what really was of importance, was the

appearance of a pretty little girl of seven in the front yard; a
pretty little fat doll of a girl, with bright fuzzy hair, pink

cheeks, blue eyes, and a smile of almost bewildering continuity.
Another might have criticised it as having the air of being glued

on, but Abijah was already in the toils and never wished it to
move.

The next day being the glorious Fourth and a holiday, Jimmy
Watson came over like David, to visit his favorite Jonathan. His

Jonathan met him at the top of the hill, pleaded a pressing
engagement, curtly sent him home, and then went back to play with

his new idol, with whom he had already scraped acquaintance, her
parents being exceedingly busy settling the new house.

After the noon dinner Jimmy again yearned to resume friendly
relations, and, forgetting his rebuff, again toiled up the hill

and appeared unexpectedly at no great distance from the Perkins
premises, wearing the broad and beaming smile of one who is

confident of welcome.
His morning call had been officious and unpleasant and

unsolicited, but his afternoon visit could only be regarded as
impudent, audacious, and positively dangerous; for Abijah and