Her brother thought me worth talking to; could she not find me worthy of at least a kind look?  Perhaps she knew more than I did of books; but what of that?  She had not half the useful knowledge wherewith to make her way here in the woods.  And what right had she to bring her haughty looks and proud ways here among our people?  My sullenness gave way before my bitter disappointment and my offended pride.  I was only a child of sixteen, sensitive and distrustful of myself, and her cold looks and colder words had keenly wounded me.

A week passed, in which I gave myself most earnestly to the household tasks, going through them with dogged pertinacity, and accomplishing an amount of work which made my step-mother declare that Janet was coming back to her senses after all.  It was only my effort to forget my disappointment.

On the Saturday evening when I sat tired out with my exertions, Mr. Hammond came up the path.  How my heart leaped at seeing him!  How good he was to come!  His sister had not taught him to despise me.  But when he asked me to come over, the next day, and see what he had done to his house and garden, the demon of sullen pride took possession of me again.  I would not go.  I had too much to do; my mother would want me to get the dinner.  In short, I could not go.  He bore it good-naturedly, though I think he understood it, and, leaving with me a package of books which he had promised me, said he must go, as Esther would be waiting tea for him.

Many another endeavor did George Hammond make to bring his sister and myself together, but the first impression had been too strong for me, and Miss Hammond made no effort to remove it.  I do not believe it ever crossed her mind to try to do so.  Little was it to her whether or no she made herself pleasant to a stupid, ugly girl.  She had her books, her light household cares, her letter-writing, her gardening, her walks and drives with her brother, and she felt and showed little interest in anything else.  Very unpopular she was among the people around her, who contrasted her cold reserve with her brother’s frank cordiality; but she troubled herself not at all about her unpopularity.  For me, I kept shyly out of her way, and fell back into my old habits.

I had not lost my friend, Mr. Hammond.  He did not read with me regularly as before, but he kept me supplied with books, and the very infrequency of his lessons stimulated me to redoubled effort, that I might surprise him by my progress when we met again.  Then there was scarcely a day that some business did not take him past our house, or that I did not meet him by the river-bank or at the store.  Sometimes he would ask me to row him down the stream on some errand, sometimes he would take me with him in his rides.  I was a fearless horsewoman, and Miss Hammond did not ride.  In all those meetings he was frank and kind as ever; he told me of his plans, his annoyances, his projects.  No, I had not lost my friend, as I had feared, and when assured of this, I could do without Miss Hammond.