And so I went doggedly through my morning tasks, and the early afternoon saw me at the store.  I would not go to Miss Hammond’s house, but I was sure to hear something of the new-comers among the gossiping miners and workmen,—­or, if not there, I had only to drop into some of the cottages, to learn from their wives all that they knew or imagined.  How little I learned,—­how little compared to what my fierce, craving heart asked!

“Miss Worthington was here with her father; they had come to see the mines, so they said; but who knows the truth?  More like it was to be a wedding between the young folks, and the father wanted to see the Sandy country before he let his daughter come into it.  She was a sweet-spoken young thing,—­not like Miss Hammond, with her proud, quality airs.”

But all this was only conjecture, and I must have certainty.  The certainty came that evening.  Mr. Hammond passed the store as I was standing by the counter, and insisted that I should go home to tea with him.  I had often done so before, and had no excuse, even when he said,—­

“I want so much to make Miss Worthington like our Sandy people, Janet.  I want her father to see that there are people worth knowing even here.  You will tell her of all the pleasures we have,—­our walks, our rides.  You cannot be afraid of her, dear Janet,—­she is so gentle, so lovely.”

A strange feeling seized me, one mingled of gentleness and bitterness.  Yes, for his sake, I would help him.  I would do all I could to welcome to his home her who was to be its blessing, and (here my good angel left me and some evil one whispered) I would show her, too, that I was not so altogether to be contemned; she should see that I was not merely the poor country-girl she thought me.  And all I had of thought or feeling, all that George Hammond had called my inborn poetry, came out that evening.  I talked, I talked well, for I was talking of what I understood,—­of my own forests and streams, of the flowers whose haunts I knew so well, of the changing seasons in their varying beauty,—­nay, as I gained courage, as I saw that I commanded attention, the books that I had read so well, the thoughts of those great writers that I had made my own, came to my aid, and quotation and allusion pressed readily to my lips.

I saw Esther Hammond’s cold look fixed upon my face, but I dared it back again, and my color rose and my eye sparkled from the excitement.  I felt my triumph when I saw the surprise on Mr. Hammond’s face, when I heard the patronizing tone of Mr. Worthington’s voice changed to one of equality, as he said,—­

“You are a worthy champion of Sandy life, Miss Janet.  I believe Amy will be tempted to try it.”

There was a quick blush on Amy’s face as I turned to look at it, and a glance of proud affection towards her from George Hammond, which took away my false strength as I stood, leaving me, weak and trembling, to seek my home in the evening twilight.