“Thank you,” he said.  “I am close to where I work, and I am not hurt.  It is only a trifling bruise.”

Something familiar about him seemed to strike her; she looked at him with a strangely puzzled face, but he gave her no light.

“Is there nothing we can do for you?” she asked, at length.

A great presumption almost took his breath away.  He gave it voice on the moment, afraid if he waited he should lack the courage.

“If you will give me the cluster of bluebells in your belt—­”

She looked surprised, hesitated a moment, then laid them in his hand.  He bowed, and was lost in the crowd.

That night when he got home he found Mat worse.  She had been failing for a long time.  She was a large girl now, with great preternaturally bright eyes, and a spot of crimson in each hollow cheek.

It was more than three months since she had been able to do anything, and Grandma Rugg was very harsh and severe with her in consequence.  There were black and blue places on her shoulders now where she had been beaten, but Arch did not know it.  Mat never spoke to him about her sufferings, because it distressed him so, and made him very angry with the old woman.

He went in and sat down on the straw beside Mat; and almost before he knew it he was telling her about Margie Harrison.  He always brought all his joys and sorrows to Mat now, just as he used to carry them to his mother.

The girl listened intently, the spots on her face growing deeper and wider.  She looked at the bluebells wistfully, but would not touch them.  Arch offered her a spray.  She shook her head sadly.

“No,” she said, “they are not for me.  Keep them, Arch.  Some time, I think, you will be rich and happy, and have all the flowers and beautiful things you wish.”

“If I ever am, Mat, you shall be my queen, and dress in gold and silver!” answered the boy, warmly; “and never do any more heavy work to make your hands hard.”

“You are very good, Arch,” she said.  “I thank you, but I shall not be there, you know.  I think I am going away—­going where I shall see my mother, and your mother, too.  Arch, and where all the world will be full of flowers!  Then I shall think of you, Arch, and wish I could send you some.”

“Mat, dear Mat! don’t talk so strangely!” said the boy, clasping her hot hands in his.  “You must not think of going away!  What should I do without you?”

She smiled, and touched her lips to his hand, which had stolen under her head, and lay so near her cheek.

“You would forget me, Arch.  I mean after a time, and I should want you to.  But I love you better than anything else in all the world!  And it is better that I should die.  A great deal better!  Last night I dreamed it was.  Your mother came and told me so.  Do you know how jealous I have been of that Margie Harrison?  I have watched you closely.  I have seen you kiss a dead rose