love--and always kept for your Master's use. It is something just to
have had a man's road to Providence lead past the garden gate. I make
acknowledgement. And mine? I think it is like one of those squat,
heathen, Satsuma vases, inlaid with distorted figures and symbols and
toned in all luridness of color, into which has been tossed a poor
sort of flower plucked from any bush the owner happened to pass, which
has been salted down in frivolity--or perhaps something stronger.
I'll keep the lid on to-night, for _you_ wouldn't like the--perfume."

"If you'd let me have it an hour I would take it down to the
milk-house and empty and scrub it and then I could use it to pour
sweet cream into. Couldn't you--you leave it here--in Uncle Tucker's
care? I--I--really--I need it badly." The raillery in her voice was as
delicious and daring as that of any accomplished world woman out over
the Ridge. It fairly staggered Everett with its audacity.

"No," he answered, coolly disapproving, "no, I'll not leave it; you
might break it."

"I never break the crocks--I can't afford to. And women never break
men's hearts; they do it themselves by keeping a hand on the treasure
so as to take it back when they want it, and so between them both it
sometimes gets--shattered."

"Very well, then--the lid's off to you--and remember you asked
for--the rummage, Rose Mary," answered Everett in a tone as light as
hers. Then suddenly he rose and stood tall and straight in front of
her, looking down into her upraised eyes in the dusk. "You don't know,
do you, you rose woman you, what a man's life can hold--of
nothingness? Yes, I've worked hard at my profession and thrown away