It was late when the last thing was accomplished, and the sun was quite low ere Katy was free to start on her errand, carrying the market basket in which she was to put the articles borrowed of Morris.

He was sitting out on his piazza enjoying the fine prospect he had of the sun shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding the top of the little church nestled in the valley.  At sight of Katy he arose and greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with him, for since we last looked upon Morris Grant he had fought a fierce battle with his selfishness, coming off conqueror, and learning to listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she often did, of Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how anxious she was for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he thought Mr. Cameron would ever write to her.  It was hard at first for Morris to listen, and harder still to hold back the passionate words of love trembling on his lips, to keep himself from telling her how improbable it was that one like Mr. Cameron should cherish thoughts of her after mingling again with the high-born city belles, and to beg of her to take him in Cameron’s stead—­him who had loved her so long, ever since he first knew what it was to love, and who would cherish her so tenderly, loving her the more because of the childishness which some men might despise.  But Morris had kept silence, and, as weeks went by, there came insensibly into his heart a hope, or rather conviction, that Cameron had forgotten the little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening his home just as she did every spot where her fairy footsteps trod.  Morris did not fully know that he was hugging this fond dream, until he felt the keen pang which cut like a dissector’s knife as Katy, turning her bright, eager face up to him, whispered softly:  “He’s coming to-morrow—­he surely is; I have his letter to tell me so.”

Morris did not see the sunshine then upon the distant hills, although it lay there just as purple as before Katy came, bringing blackness and pain when heretofore she had only brought him joy and gladness.  There was a moment of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun setting, and Katy seemed a great ways off to Morris, trying so hard to be calm, and mentally asking for help to do so.  But Katy’s hat, which she swung in her hand, had become entangled in the vines encircling one of the pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice him until all traces of his agitation were past, and he could talk with her concerning Wilford, and then playfully lifting her basket he asked what she had come to get.