one of his most impressive sermons from the text, "She looketh well

unsex her-she sacrificed it in herself in order that she might return it to the race through her sons. Self-sacrifice-to use a worn metaphor-self-sacrifice was the breath of the nostrils of the womanly woman. It was for her power of self-sacrifice that men loved her and made an Ideal of her. Whatever else woman gave up, she must always retain her power

of her poke bonnet. She gazed upward, clasping her Prayer-book in her black woollen gloves, which were darned in the fingers; and though she appeared to listen attentively to the sermon, she was wondering all the time if the coloured servant at home would remember to baste the roast pig she had left in the oven. To-day was the Reverend Orlando's birthday, and the speckled pig she had fattened

eared in his face. Mentally he was conducting a theological dispute with the preacher in which the younger man suffered always a crushing rhetorical defeat. Behind him sat the miller and Blossom Revercomb, who threw an occasional anxious glance at the empty seat beside Mrs. Gay and Kesiah; and behind them Judy Hatch

l authority for the statement that beauty was vain, and no God-fearing man would rank loveliness of face or form above the capacity for self-sacrifice and the unfailing att

f the church-yard, other horses were waiting patiently for the service to end, and from several side saddles, of an ancient pattern, hung flopping alpaca riding skirts, which the farmer's wives or daughters had worn over their best gowns to church. A few locust trees shed their remaining small yellow leaves on the sunken graves, which were

hrough the south doors, where the old grey horse stood resigned and expectant amid the obliterated graves. Mrs. Gay,

elping me," she murmured, and added impulsively to the little old

er and more withered than ever in the broad daylight. "If you'll believe me, he wasn't more than six months old when I said to his

t you'll lose him some day, as I was just saying to Kesiah. It won't be long before some fortunat

etimes tell myself there isn't a wom

tered in her motherly old heart by the praise of his sermons, and yet, all the time, while her peaked chi

and of Jim Halloween followed her disapprovingly as she went; and she thought with complacency that she had never looked better than she did in her white felt hat with its upturned brim held back by cherry-coloured ribbon. It was all very well for the rector to say that beauty was of less

ch buttoned at the back, "I believe that the elder Doolittle nourishes some private grudge against me. He ha

erved Mrs. Mullen, with asperity,

is doing," said Molly, "you know he pas

ertinent carrot flower that had shed its pollen on his long coat, while he regarded his mother's back with the expression of indignant sus

orted Molly, a trifle tartly, for the sermon had bore

void the yellow stain of the golden-rod, glanced sharply back, as she had done in chur

clearly just what they ought to be," she observed. "I don't believe there's

er live up to hi

All he can do is to point it out to

er head bent toward the house in a surprised and listening attitude. "I declare, Orlando, if I didn

a high one, and when I look into your face, I see reflected all the virtues I would ha

rned toward her as though he beheld t

"I wonder if your mother really locked the

-coloured strings under her chin, and started home, with a basket of apple tarts for Reuben on her arm. At the crossroads Mr. Mullen left her to return to an afternoon Sunday school, and she was about

lat on his head as was his habit on Sundays, and he wore a vivid purple tie, which he had bought on his last journey to A

o step at his side, he inquired, after a mo

wife if he expects her to ease everybody's pains in the parish. He

y. "I never pay any attention to the w

ther day whom I thought the handsomest man in the neighb

s arm went out impu

n't, Molly?"

you imagine that I sho

y was the b

, and for a minute or tw

lieve that you're one of the temptresses Mr. Mullen preached against this morni

Abel," she answered,

th it-that you're perfectly heartless-that you're only a flirt

se dreadful truths, what happen

grass, or a flower growing by the road, or the blue sky, there you are again, popping in between them with your big eyes and your mouth that was made for kisses. I forget how heartles

uickly, and her voice bro

he walked faster until her

m, you wouldn't care so, Ab

to you and then throws them over-as you have thrown me-as you will throw Mr. Mullen." His tone grew suddenly st

to accusation, her face hardened a

?" she asked angrily. "I've had one sermon preac

lly, but I'm a man of flesh and blood,

you to have p

. If I'd catch hold of you and shake

t you don't try it to

still believing in you against yo

f you won't go off and marry Judy Hatch, as I have begged you to. She's

el with me, that is the trouble. As soon as you me

n was good looking without

ut I hate a flirt. Ev

ch isn't

h I've more than half a mind to w

vised you to do for the l

I had done it. You've got some small foolish childish notions in your head about hating men-

aid-how dare

ne for you, Molly, I'd lie down and let your little feet walk over me if they

the beginning, but it isn't

self and make money enough to take classes in Applegate? Just for you. All those winter afternoons when I drove over there to learn things, I was

hem! I'm hard and bitter inside, there's no softness in me. If I went on my knees

mber when yo

have fo

ly three w

was three

ly out of his eyes

had anything but misery from you in my life. It's damnable the things I've stood and yet I've always forgotten them afterwards, and remembered only the times you were soft and gentle and had ceased to be shrewish. Nobody

out it. I hate to hear such

ed at the carrot flowers in the field. "If you will tell me honestly tha

in her face and she

and I told you so the day

n it. I can't go any fur

han's

roachful look of a wounded dog's,

on until I could hurt you-as I did

n hurt me, you throw

her hand for the basket, which

" he added harshly; and turning away from her, struc

m, her lips parted, her eyes wide and b

the witch-hazel path that led by the Poplar Spring, "but I won