mpering of little feet down the walk, a su

Treat in times of trouble, but today the cool shadows and whispering
trees did not soothe her, and after wandering about until the afternoon
began to wane, she started for home, still wrathful and passionate, for
she felt that Mr. Hartman had been very unfair in his treatment of her.
While she was still some distance from the little brown house, a
carriage drove up to their gate, and stopped, but she did not recognize
the rig, nor could she make out who had alighted; and for the time
being, her rage was lost in her greater curiosity. "Wonder who it can
be," she said to herself. "It isn't the doctor's horse, nor the Judge's
buggy, and that woman is too little for Mrs. Lacy or Mrs. Edwards. She's
got a big bundle. Maybe it's the Salvation Army bringing us some old
duds like they did the German family last week. But s'posing it was some
rich aunt or grandmother we didn't know we had. It's awfully hard not to
have any relations like other folks. I am going through old
Cross-Patch's cornfield, 'stead of running clear around by the road."
She crawled between the strands of barbed wire and ran swiftly down the
rows of rustling, whispering, silken corn, thinking only of the
unexpected visitors at home, until a big barn loomed up before her,
shining in its newness. Then she stopped abruptly, having suddenly
remembered her grievance. "He _isn't_ square!" she cried. "I'd like to
fight him good. I'll get even with you some day, Mr. Hardman! Bet he's
going to paint his old barn. Here

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