“Perhaps my life does seem an easy one to others.  At least, I do not complain.”

“No,” said the farmer, “but you’ve foolishly added to your burdens, taking that young one of Lynn’s.  Whatever induced you to do it?”

“Nothing,” she replied, quietly, “but the thought that it was my duty.  There was none other to assume the responsibility, so it rested upon me.”

“That’s sheer nonsense,” he said contemptuously.  “What do you suppose would become of you now, if you should fall sick, or the child either?  In that case, it would not be much of a kindness you have done her, filling her head with grand ideas, as I hear, about being a lady, and all that.  She’d go to the poor house all the same, and you would have nothing to help yourself with, unless,” he added, curiously, “you are independent of your position.”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Clemence.  “I depend solely upon my own efforts for support, as I have repeatedly declared in answer to similar enquiries.”

“Then you’ve done an unheard of thing, that’s all that I can say, and if you expect to be thought better for it, you are mistaken, for people will only call you a fool for your pains, and I doubt if the girl herself will ever repay one half your efforts, or feel any gratitude for them.”

“As to that,” she said abstractedly, looking off into the gathering twilight, “I have not expected payment and shall not be disappointed in that case.  However, I do not regret the step.  On the contrary, I am thankful for the privilege.”

“Where’s the young ’un now?” he asked.  “To Swan’s yet?”

Clemence nodded in the affirmative.

“How much do you pay a week for her board?”

“Two dollars,” she said coolly.

“And you earn how much?”

“Five dollars per week and board.”

“And have had to clothe her besides buying what books and other articles a child needs?  Well, you are green.  They say, too, you dress pretty well yourself.  Can’t see how you manage it on them wages,” he added, eyeing her with a shrewd, penetrating glance.

Clemence blushed under the close scrutiny.

“Do you call calico expensive?” she asked, calling his attention to her own daintily fitting one.

“No,” he answered, shifting uneasily in his seat, “of course it’s the cheapest and best thing a woman can wear, in my opinion.”

“Of course,” echoed Mrs. Owen, at his elbow, “but what does a man know about such things?  But I’ll tell you one thing, Amos, if calico is the cheapest and best thing a woman can wear, I am going to have enough of it after this.”