“Well, Andrew?” said Jim.  He had a shamed face, yet there was something brave in it struggling for expression.

“Well, Jim?” said Andrew.

The two shook hands solemnly.  Then they walked on together, and the sisters behind, with Amabel clinging to her mother’s hand.  “Jim’s goin’ to work if he has had a little windfall,” said Eva, proudly.  “Oh, Fanny, only think what it means!”

“I hope it will be a lesson to both of them,” said Mrs. Zelotes, stalking along after, but she smiled harshly.

“Oh, land, don’t croak, if you’ve got a chance to laugh!  There’s few enough chances in this world,” cried Eva, with boisterous good humor.  “As for me, I’ve come out of deep waters, and I’m goin’ to take what comfort I can in the feel of the solid ground under my feet.”  She began to force Amabel into a dance in time with the music, and the child shrieked with laughter.

“S’pose she’s all right?” whispered Mrs. Zelotes to Fanny.

“Land, yes,” replied Fanny; “it’s just like her, just the way she used to do.  It makes me surer than anything else that she’s cured.”

The girls behind were loitering.  Abby turned to Ellen and pointed to a rustic seat under a clump of birches.

“Let’s sit down there a minute, Ellen,” said she.

“All right,” replied Ellen.  When she and Abby seated themselves, Maria withdrew, standing aloof under an oak, looking up at the illumined spread of branches with the rapt, innocent expression of a saint.

“Why don’t you come and sit down with us, Maria?” Ellen called.

“In a minute,” replied Maria, in her weak, sweet voice.  Then John Sargent came up and joined her.

“She’ll come in a minute,” Abby said to Ellen.  “She—­she—­knows I want to tell you something.”

Abby hesitated.  Ellen regarded her with wonder.

“Look here, Ellen,” said Abby; “I don’t know what you’re going to think of me after all I’ve said, but—­I’m going to get married to Willy Jones.  His mother has had a little money left her, and she owns the house clear now, and I’m going to keep right on working; and—­I never thought I would, Ellen, you know; but I’ve come to think lately that all you can get out of labor in this world is the happiness it brings you, and—­the love.  That’s more than the money, and—­he wants me pretty bad.  I suppose you think I’m awful, Ellen Brewster.”  Abby spoke with triumph, yet with shame.  She dug her little toe into the shadow-mottled ground.

“Oh, Abby, I hope you’ll be real happy,” said Ellen.  Then she choked a little.

“I’ve made up my mind not to work for nothing,” said Abby; “I’ve made up my mind to get whatever work is worth in this world if I can, and—­to get it for him too.”

“I hope you will be very happy,” said Ellen again.

“There he is now,” whispered Abby.  She rose as Willy Jones approached, laughing confusedly.  “I’ve been telling Ellen Brewster,” said Abby, with her perfunctory air.