Barbara was shut into her chamber looking over her wardrobe with a view to approaching winter. In the autumn the call would come, Jarvis had told her. Already the ripening apples glowed like live coals along the laden orchard boughs, and the brisk September winds scattered drifts of yellowing leaves about the feet of the early dying locusts below her windows. Martha Cottle was gone, after a stormy scene in which she had exacted redress and largesse of the most lavish description. Barbara had drawn a long breath of relief when the last echo of the spinster’s strident voice and the last militant thump of her flat-heeled shoes had died away.

Peg and Jimmy had openly exulted in the final retreat of the enemy; and Peg took occasion to exhort his dearly beloved mistress anew concerning the inscrutable yet invariably benevolent workings of Providence, as signally evidenced in the hasty departure of Martha Cottle.

“Ef it hadn’t be’n fer them onions,” he declared, “she’d never have took a fancy t’ me. ’N’ ef I hadn’t ’a’ heard o’ John Closner of Hidalgo, Texas, ’s like’s not I’d ’a’ never took t’ raisin’ ’em. Them onions kinder drored Marthy’s ’tention t’ me—she thinkin’ ’at mebbe I’d git a heap o’ money fer ’em, ’n’ then be accommodatin’ ’nough t’ die an’ go t’ heaven immediate. Yes, ma’am, she’d got it all worked out in her own mind, even t’ widow’s thirds. Then, y’ see, the Cap’n’s red ink fitted right in t’ the scheme o’ salvation; an’ here we be. I figger it this way: the Lord hes be’n ’quainted with Marthy Cottle fer a spell longer’n we hev, an’ He knew she wa’n’t fit t’ b’ left in charge o’ the Cap’n, t’ say nothin’ o’ things in general.”

“But what shall I do with Jimmy?” murmured Barbara, wrinkling her forehead perplexedly. “It won’t be long now before I shall be obliged to leave him.”

“Don’t you worry none ’bout that,” advised Peg. “Everythin’s a-comin’ out all right. I’ll bet a dollar’n a half,” he went on, raising his voice to a high argumentative pitch, “that the Lord hes got his plans all made a’ready. W’y, Miss Barb’ry, it’ll do you a heap o’ good t’ jus’ take notice o’ the way the Lord kind o’ fetches things ’round in this ’ere world. I’ve got so ’t I don’t put in a minute worryin’. Daytimes I’m too blamed busy, an’ nights I’m too sleepy ’n’ tired; ’n’ I’ve learned f’om a long life of experience ’at worryin’ ain’t no kind o’ use, anyhow. Things is bein’ worked ’round fer you, nigh an’ fur, an’ the fust thing you know you’re gittin’ ’long all hunky-dory. Mebbe doin’ the very thing you wanted to do all the while, but thought you couldn’t, nohow you’d fix it.”

“I wish I could believe it,” sighed Barbara.

“All you’ve got t’ do is t’ begin t’ take notice,” urged Peg. “You don’t have t’ make no speshul effort. Keep yer eyes peeled an’ watch out. I ain’t worryin’ none ’bout the Cap’n. You bet I ain’t.”

Barbara was thinking about Peg’s homely and comfortable philosophy as she laid the last neatly folded garment into the till of her trunk; and mingled with her dubious musings on the scope and nature of that mysteriously active power, known in current phrase as “Providence,” and as commonly reckoned hostile, in the world’s judgment, were thoughts of David. Not altogether happy were these uppermost reflections in Barbara’s mind, as evidenced by her brooding eyes and the downward droop of her red mouth. She loved David (she assured herself) yet she could not but be conscious of inward reserves, tremors, even resentments. She constantly caught herself explaining, excusing, defending him before the bar of that clear-eyed self which had never yet yielded to his hot kisses and close embraces. She loved him (she was sure) but she also pitied him, for his evident weaknesses, his frequent deflections from her own high ideals of manhood, for his multiplied offenses against her maiden modesty. Almost insensibly she had been forced into an attitude of watchfulness, guarding herself against his too ardent and careless approaches, soothing the gloom and irritation which alternated with not infrequent periods of coldness and neglect, when he chanced to be feeling sorry for himself, in view of what he was pleased to regard as the sacrifice of his future.

David had not acquainted Barbara with the result of his latest interview with Jarvis. He hated Jarvis, and he took small pains to conceal the fact; but he jealously hid his unshaken conviction with regard to the money, which he had made up his mind Jarvis had given to Barbara. After a little he even concluded that it need not be repaid.

“Miserly old crab,” he told himself. “It won’t hurt him to let Barbara have that much out of his pile.”

Something of this thought colored his words when he discussed the question with Barbara.

“You’ll marry me in November, won’t you?” he pleaded, “if the fellow doesn’t show up before then? We can pay him all right—if we have to.”

“If we have to?” echoed Barbara, with a straight look at him. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s a good bit of money—four thousand dollars. Perhaps some—er—philanthropical jay gave it to you outright, Barbie. I shouldn’t be so very much surprised.”

He laughed at the proud curl of her lips.

“You wouldn’t care, would you?” he persisted, “if some old duffer had taken it into his noddle to do a good deed? Once we are married, I shan’t bother to unearth him, you’d better believe. I’m in favor of letting sleeping philanthropists lie—eh, Barbie?”

“We’ll not be married,” Barbara said, in a low voice, “till——”

He caught her suddenly about the waist and stopped her words with one of his close kisses.

“You shan’t say it,” he murmured, his lips still on hers.

She twisted sharply out of his grasp, her face crimsoning slowly.

“I wish—you wouldn’t, David.”

“Wouldn’t what, little wife?” he drawled, reaching for her lazily from his comfortable seat in the corner of the sofa.

“I am not your wife,” she said coldly.

“Pretty near,” he laughed; “too near for such little exhibitions of prudery.”

His eyes, vividly blue and sparkling under their long curling lashes, met hers with a look which she silently resented.

“I have sold the apples on the trees,” she said presently, seating herself near the window, under pretence of getting a better light on her sewing.

David yawned audibly, and thrust his hands into his trousers pockets.

“You have—eh?”

“Yes; and for a good price, as prices go, Peg says.”

“How much?” he wanted to know.

She told him, and he shook his head.

“Do y’ know, that old Morrison is a fool. I mean to get rid of him, when I take charge here.”

Barbara was silent.

“The old chap doesn’t know enough to last him over night,” pursued David. “I don’t believe you’d ever have gotten into such a hole financially, if it hadn’t been for his running things into the ground. What you want is a couple of capable young men about the place. Of course we’ll keep some decent horses. I’ve bought one already, a beauty! Come out and look at him, Barbie. Or, say, put on your hat and I’ll take you for a spin. We’ll take in the county fair, if you say so. It’s in full blast to-day.”

She arose and folded her work.

“Not to-day, David; I’ve bread to bake. But I’ll come out and look at your horse.”

“You’re getting so confoundedly difficult, Barbara. I never know how to take you,” complained David, as they walked, a little apart, along the gravel path.

He turned to look at her and was struck afresh by her beauty. During the long days of the summer that was past, she seemed to have bloomed into a new and more vivid loveliness. He drew his breath sharply as his eyes lingered on the rich red of her mouth, the full column of her round white throat, and the soft undulations of her figure as she moved slowly under the dazzling light of the September sky.

“If you weren’t such a tearing beauty,” he said, under his breath, “I don’t know as I could stand for it long. You’re forever treading on a fellow’s toes; did you know it, Barbie? Now, I like a woman to be sweet and—er—yielding.”

He smiled at the vision of Jennie, the pink-cheeked waitress at the Barford Eagle, which chose to obtrude itself at the moment. The humble, almost suppliant look of adoration in her childish blue eyes had lately, afforded David a vast amount of indolent amusement.

“A woman,” he went on, didactically, “ought not to be always thinking of herself.”

“I know that, David,” Barbara said meekly. “I try not to. But——”

“That’s just it!” he broke in quickly; “there’s always a ‘but’ in your mind and in your attitude towards me, and always has been. You needn’t deny it,” he added, openly complacent, in view of his own cleverness. “I know women.”

The girl looked at him in silence, a mutinous question behind her closed lips.

David smiled down at her brilliantly, his eyes, his tawny hair, his white teeth, and his ruddy color suggesting the magnificent youth and virility of a pagan deity, newly alighted on the common earth.

“The fact is, Barbara,” he went on confidently, “you’ve lived here so long practically alone that you’re a bit spoiled. What you need is to give up trying to control everything and everybody and just be a sweet little wife. Didn’t you know that?”

Her eyes drooped under the blue fire of his gaze. David laughed aloud.

“I’ll make you happy,” he said, possessing himself of her hand. “You won’t know yourself a year from now, little girl. All this worry will be over; and I’m never going to allow you to bother your dear little head again over farm-products and such things as cows, pigs, and chickens. I mean to give up a lot of that sort of farming. It doesn’t pay, and it’s a whole lot of useless bother and expense. There! what do you think of my horse? Isn’t he a beauty? Look at his head and eyes, will you? and the build and color of him? There’s blood for you, and I tell you he’s a hummer on the road!”

Barbara passed a knowing little hand over the satin neck, and the horse turned his large, full, intelligent eyes upon her with a whinny of welcome.

“He likes you, Barbie; first thing. Perhaps you can drive him after a while. But just now he’s like a certain little woman I know, a bit restive and needing a strong hand to guide and control. You don’t mind my seeing it so clearly, do you, dear?”

Barbara threw back her head and looked at him from under lowered lashes.

“I mind your saying it,” she said. “And I may as well tell you—now—that I don’t intend to discharge Peg; and I must always have a voice in the management of the farm. It is Jimmy’s farm, you know.”

“I’ve heard you say so before,” he said sulkily. “But why isn’t half of it yours, I’d like to know?”

“Because Jimmy is the last Preston, and father wanted it so. I shall have all that comes off of it till Jimmy is of age. We——”

She hesitated, with a doubtful look at him. “There is other good land near. We shall, perhaps, be able to acquire it; start fresh orchards, and——”

“Perhaps—perhaps!” he echoed irritably. “I’ll tell you straight it’s all nonsense. Under the law you’re entitled to half. Ask old Jarvis, if you don’t believe me.”

He watched the quick color rise in Barbara’s face, with a low laugh of arrogant amusement.

“Jarvis is a curious old duffer,” he added, lazily stroking the smooth shoulder of his horse. “But he knows rather better than to tackle me on certain subjects.”

His eyes were fastened on Barbara, narrowly watching her.

“He’s tried it once or twice; but I called his bluff each time. He hasn’t been here lately, has he?”

“No,” said Barbara faintly.

“Well, he’d best keep his distance; that’s all.”

He turned quickly at sound of a boyish whoop from behind.

“Oh, hello, Jimmy!” he said carelessly. “How’s your majesty’s highness to-day?”

“I’m pretty well, ’xcept that bof my front teef are loose,” replied the little boy seriously. “I can’t eat corn or apples, ’cept wiv my side teef.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time you taught that boy to speak the English language, Barbara? It’s teeth and with, my boy. Don’t let me hear you make that babyish blunder again.”

The child hung his head, his face flushing to a shamed scarlet under his thatch of yellow hair.

“I’m going to try,” he said manfully.

“Want to take a ride with me, old man?” asked David. “Your sister says she can’t.”

Jimmy looked up eagerly into Barbara’s face for the coveted permission.

“I’m going to drive over to the fair,” pursued David. “I’d like to take my best girl along pretty well; but you’ll do, Jimmy.”

Barbara hesitated, her eyes averted.

“Of course, if you’re afraid to trust him with me——” mocked David. “I’ve a tolerably fast horse here, and I’m supposed to be a reckless——”

“It isn’t that,” she interrupted hurriedly. “He may go, if he’d like to.”

Jimmy burst into a shout of joy.

“I guess I’d better brush my hair,” he exulted, “and put on my best clo’es! Shall I, Barbara?”

“You’re well enough as you are,” David said peremptorily. “Jump in, boy, and we’ll be off!”

She stood watching them as they drove away, the little boy’s yellow hair blowing about his rosy face.

“Good-bye, Barbara!” he shouted. “We’re going awful fast!”

David’s attention seemed centred upon his horse. He did not once look at the girl, as she waved her hand in token of a cheerful good-bye.