The next minute he found himself asking if she could ever grow gentle--could ever soften enough to allow herself to be stroked?
He remembered Solomon Hatch's remark that "she was onmerciful to an entire sex," and in spite of his effort at composure, a laugh sprang to his lips.
In the centre of the room a table was laid, and going over to it, she busied herself with the cups and saucers as though she were anxious to put a disagreeable presence out of her thoughts.
"May I share your supper ?" he asked, and waited, not without amusement, for her answer.
"I'm sorry there isn't any for you at the big house," she answered politely.

"If you will sit down, I'll tell Delily to bring in some batter bread." "And you ?" "I'll have mine with grandfather.

He's out in the barn giving medicine to the red cow." While she spoke Delily entered with a plate of cornbread and a pot of coffee, and a minute later Reuben Merryweather paused on the threshold to shake off a sprinkling of bran from his hair and beard.

He was a bent, mild looking old man, with a wooden leg which made a stumping noise when he walked, and a pair of wistful brown eyes, like those of an aged hound that has been worn out by hard service.

Past seventy now, his youth had been trained to a different civilization, and there was a touching gentleness in his face, as if he expressed still the mental attitude of a class which had existed merely as a support or a foil to the order above it.