her thoughts rather than her exertions were flushing her cheeks.

It seemed to her that but a few moments elapsed before she followed him, but
he had gone. Then she saw that the rain had ceased and that the clouds were
breaking. His cheerful whistle sounded reassuringly from the barn, and a
little later he drove up the lane with a cart.

She sat down in the kitchen and began sewing on the fine linen they had jested
about. Before long she heard a light step. Glancing up, she saw the most
peculiar and uncanny-looking child that had ever crossed her vision, and with
dismal presentiment knew it was Jane.


Chapter XXVIII. Another Waif

It was indeed poor, forlorn little Jane that had appeared like a specter in
the kitchen door. She was as wet and bedraggled as a chicken caught in a
shower. A little felt hat hung limp over her ears; her pigtail braid had lost
its string and was unraveling at the end, and her torn, sodden shoes were
ready to drop from her feet. She looked both curiously and apprehensively at
Alida with her little blinking eyes, and then asked in a sort of breathless
voice, "Where's him?"

"Mr. Holcroft?"

Jane nodded.

"He's gone out to the fields. You are Jane, aren't you?"

Another nod.