“Aunt Kesiah,” said Gay, stopping beside her, “do you think any of us understand Molly’s character?  Is she happy with us or not?”

It is a pleasant thing to be at the time of life, and in the possession of the outward advantages, which compel other persons to stop in the midst of their own interesting affairs and begin to inquire if they understand one’s character.  As Kesiah lifted a caterpillar on a leaf, and carefully laid it in the centre of the grassy walk, she thought quite cheerfully that nobody had ever wondered about her character, and that it must be rather nice to have some one do so.

“I don’t know, Jonathan; you will tread on that caterpillar if you aren’t careful.”

“Hang the caterpillar!  I sometimes suspect that she isn’t quite so happy as she ought to be.”

“She didn’t get over Reuben’s death easily, if that is what you mean.”

“I don’t know whether it is what I mean or not.”

“Perhaps her development has surprised you, in a way.  The first touch of sorrow changed her from a child into a woman.  No one ever realized, I suppose, the strength that was in her all the time.”

Turning away from her, he stared moodily at Uncle Boaz, who was trimming the lawn beyond the miniature box hedges of the garden.  Furrows of mown grass lay like golden green wind-drifts behind the swinging passage of the scythe, and the face of the old negro showed scarred and wistful under the dappled sunshine.  June beetles, coloured like emeralds, spun loudly through the stillness, which had in it an almost human quality of hushed and expectant waiting.  All Nature seemed to be breathing softly, lest she should awake from her illusion and find the world dissolved into space.

“I wonder if it is really the miller?” said Gay suddenly.  “The truth is her life seems empty of something.”

“I beg your pardon?” returned Kesiah, startled, for she had been thinking not of Molly’s life, but of her own.  It was not much of a life, to be sure, but it was all she had, so she felt it was only natural that she should think about it.

“I said I wondered if it were the miller,” repeated Gay a little impatiently.  Like his mother he found Kesiah’s attacks of inattention very trying—­and if she were to get deaf the only position she had ever filled with credit would be necessarily closed to her.  What on earth did she have to occupy her anyway if not other people’s affairs?

“I can hardly believe that,” she answered.  “Of course he’s a very admirable young man, but it’s out of the question that Molly should worry her mind about him after he has gone and married another woman.”

Her logic seemed rather feeble to Gay, but as he had told himself often before, Kesiah never could argue.

“I hear the fellow’s come out quite surprisingly.  Mr. Chamberlayne tells me he is speaking now around the neighbourhood, and he has a pretty command of rough and ready oratory.”