She waited like a mendicant to beg for the chance of earning her bread.  That was all she asked—­the chance to work, to eat the bread of independence, and yet she knew how slim the chance was.  She had been wandering about seeking employment all day, and no one would give it.

Only Dave had not forgotten the stranger is the joy of Kate’s home-coming.  He had welcomed the flurry of excitement to say a few words to his mother, his sworn ally in all the little domestic plots.

“Mother,” he said, “do contrive to keep that girl.  It would be nothing short of murder to turn her out on the highway.”

A pressure of the motherly hand assured Dave that he could rely on her support.

“Well, well, Katie,” said the Squire with his arm around his niece’s waist, “the old place has been lonely without you!”

“Uncle, who is that girl on the porch?” she asked in an undertone.

“That we don’t know; says her name is Moore, and that she wants work.  Kind of sounds like a fairy story, don’t it, Kate?”

“Poor thing, poor thing!” was Kate’s only answer.

“Amasy,” said Mrs. Bartlett, assuming all the courage of a rabbit about to assert itself, “this family is bigger than it was with Kate home and the professor here, and I am not getting younger—­I want you to let me keep this young woman to help me about the house.”

The Squire set his jaw, always an ominous sign to his family.  “I don’t like this takin’ strangers, folks we know nothing about; it’s mighty suspicious to see a young woman tramping around the country, without a home, looking for work.  I don’t like it.”

The girl, who sat apart while these strangers considered taking her in, as if she had been a friendless dog, arose, her eyes were full of unshed tears, her voice quivered, but pride supported her.  Turning to the Squire, she said: 

“You are suspicious because you are blest with both home and family.  My mother died a few months ago, I myself have been ill.  I make this explanation not because your kindness warrants it, sir, but because your family would have been willing to take me on faith.”  She bowed her head in the direction of Mrs. Bartlett and Dave.

“Well,” the Squire interrupted, “you need not go away hungry, you can stop here and eat your dinner, and then Hi Holler can take you in the wagon to the place provided for such unfortunate cases, and where you’ll have food and shelter.”

“The poor farm, do you mean?” the girl said, wildly; “no, no; if you will not give me work I will not take your charity.”

“Father!” exclaimed Dave and his mother together.

“Now, now,” said Kate, going up to the Squire and putting her hands on his shoulders, “it seems to me as if my uncle’s been getting a little hard while I’ve been away from home, and I don’t think it has improved him a bit.  The uncle I left here had a heart as big as a house.  What has he done with it?”