WHAT A SPARROW SAW
had hardly spoken to her in weeks. What had she done that he should treat her so? She would show him that there were just as good fellows about as Mr. Carl Nilsson.
But all this faded out when Carl joined her—Carl, so straight, clear-skinned, brown, and ruddy; his teeth so white; his eyes so blue! She could see out of the corner of her eye how the hair curled in tiny rings on his temples.
Still it was to Quigg she talked. And more than that, she gave him her prayer-book to carry until she fixed her glove—the glove that needed no fixing at all. And she chattered on about the dance at the boat club, and the picnic which was to come off when the weather grew warmer.
And Carl walked silent beside her, with his head up and his heart down, and the tears very near his eyes.
When they reached the outer gate of the stable-yard, and Quigg had slouched off without even raising his hat,—the absence of all courtesy stands in a certain class for a mark of higher respect,—Carl swung back the gate, and held it open for her to pass in. Jennie loitered for a moment. There was a
131
