I'm twisted out of shape, like the crooked sycamore by the mill-race." A sigh passed her lips, and, as if in answer to the sound, there came the rumble of approaching wheels in the turnpike.

As she climbed the low rail fence which divided the corn-lands from the highway, she met the old family carriage from Jordan's Journey returning with the two ladies on the rear seat.

The younger, a still pretty woman of fifty years, with shining violet eyes that seemed always apologizing for their owner's physical weakness, leaned out and asked the girl, in a tone of gentle patronage, if she would ride with the driver?
"Thank you, Mrs.Gay, it's only a quarter of a mile and I don't mind the walk." "We've brought an overcoat--Kesiah and I--a good thick one, for your grandfather.

It worried us last winter that he went so lightly clad during the snow storms." Molly's face changed, and her eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"Oh, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed, losing her manner of distant politeness.

"I've been trying to persuade him to buy one, but he hates to spend money on himself." Kesiah, who had leaned back during the conversation, with the scowling look she wore when her heart was moved, nodded grimly while she felt in the black travelling bag she carried for Mrs.Gay's salts.