Brewster was a hard woman. The neighbors said she was close, and would
have more of a cat than her skin. Miss Sarah had been out of town to
school, and was proud. Sam, the grown-up son, was coarse, but just as
proud as his sister. I disliked the way he looked at Rachel. Her
position in the family I soon understood. She was there to take the
drudgery from Mrs. Brewster, to be ordered about by Miss Sarah,
tormented by the younger children, and teased, if not insulted, by Sam.
What puzzled me was her manner towards them. She spoke but seldom, and,
it seemed to me, had a way of looking _down_ upon these people, who were
so bent upon making her look _up_ to them. The cross looks and words
seemed not to hit her. Her deep, dark eyes appeared as if they were
looking away beyond the scenes around her. I was very glad to see,
however, that she could notice Sam enough to avoid him; for to that
young man I had taken a dislike, and not, as it turned, without reason.

One evening, during my second week at the Brewsters', I sat long at my
chamber-window, watching the fading twilight, the growing moonlight, and
the steady snow-light. Presently I saw Rachel come out to take in the
clothes. It seemed just right that she should appear then, for in her
face were all three,--the shadowy twilight, the soft moonlight, and the
white snow-light.

She wore a little shawl, crossed in front, and tied behind at the waist,
and over her head a bright-colored blanket, just pinned under the chin.
This exposed her face, and while I watched it, as it showed front-view
or profile, not knowing which I liked best, admiring, meanwhile, the
grace with which she reached up, where the line was high, sometimes
springing from the ground, I saw Sam approaching, very slowly and
softly, from behind. When quite near, watching his opportunity, he
seized her by the waist. He was going to kiss her. I started up, as if