to do something, but there was nothing to be done. With a quick motion
she slid from his grasp, stepped back, and looked him in the face. Not a
word fell from her lips, only her silence spoke. "I despise you! There
is nothing in you that words can reach!" was the speech which I felt in
my heart she was making, though her lips never moved. Other things, too,
I felt in my heart,--rather perplexing, agitating, but still pleasing
sensations, which I did not exactly feel like analyzing. One of the
children came out to take hold one side of the basket, and Sam walked
away.

I went down soon after and look my favorite seat upon the settle, which
was then in its own place by the fire. The children were in bed, the
older ones had gone to singing-school, and Mrs. Brewster was at an
evening-meeting. The Squire was at home with his rheumatism.

I liked a nice chat with the Squire. He was a great reader, and
delighted to draw me into long talks, political or theological. My
remarks on this particular evening would have been more brilliant, had
not Rachel been sprinkling and folding clothes at the back of the room.
The Squire, in his roundabout, came exactly between us, so that, in
looking up to answer his questions, I could not help seeing a white arm
with the sleeve rolled above the elbow, could not help watching the
drops of water, as she shook them from her fingers. I wondered how it
was, that, while working so hard, her hands should be so white. My
sister Fanny told me, long afterwards, that some girls always have white
hands, no matter how hard they work.

This question interested me more than the political ones raised by the
Squire, and I became aware that my answers were getting wild, by his
eying me over his spectacles. Rachel finished the clothes, and seated