The young man looked kindly, although a little constrainedly, down into his companion’s face.

“I hear you haven’t been very well,” said he.  “I hope you feel better since you came to Elliot?”

“Yes, thank you; I guess I do,” replied Lois.

Francis still looked at her.  Her little face bent, faintly rosy, under her hat.  There was a grave pitifulness, like an old woman’s, about her mouth, but her shoulders looked very young and slender.

“Suppose you take off your hat,” said he, “and let the air come on your forehead.  I’ve got mine off; it’s more comfortable.  You won’t catch cold.  It’s warm as summer.”

Lois took off her hat.

“That’s better,” said Francis, approvingly.  “You’re going to live right along here in Elliot with your aunt, aren’t you?”

Lois looked up at him suddenly.  She was very pale, and her eyes were full of terror.

“Why, what is the matter?  What have I said?” he cried out, in bewilderment.

Lois bent over and hid her face; her back heaved with sobs.

Francis stared at her.  “Why, what is the matter?” he cried again.  “Have I done anything?” He hesitated.  Then he put his hand on her little moist curly head.  Lois’ hair was not thick, but it curled softly.  “Why, you poor little girl,” said he; “don’t cry so;” and his voice was full of embarrassed tenderness.

Lois sobbed harder.

“Now, see here,” said Francis.  “I haven’t known you more than an hour, and I don’t know what the matter is, and I don’t know but you’ll think I’m officious, but I’ll do anything in the world to help you, if you’ll only tell me.”

Lois shook off his hand and sat up.  “It isn’t anything,” said she, catching her breath, and setting her tear-stained face defiantly ahead.

“Don’t you feel well?”

Lois nodded vaguely, keeping her quivering mouth firmly set.  They were both silent for a moment, then Lois spoke without looking at him.

“Do you know if there’s any school here that I could get?” said she.

“A school?”

“Yes.  I want to get a chance to teach.  I’ve been teaching, but I’ve lost my school.”

“And you want to get one here?”

“Yes.  Do you know of any?”

“Why, see here,” said Francis.  “It’s none of my business, but I thought you hadn’t been very well.  Why don’t you take a little vacation?”

“I can’t,” returned Lois, in a desperate tone.  “I’ve got to do something.”

“Why, won’t your aunt—­” He stopped short.  The conviction that the stern old woman who had inherited the Maxwell property was too hard and close to support her little delicate orphan niece seized upon him.  Lois’ next words strengthened it.