face had come again the baffling expression of perplexity and trouble I had seen before.
"You were on your way home, I suppose? Richey—spoke about seeing you," I floundered, finding it necessary to say something. She looked at me with level, direct eyes.
"No," she returned quietly. "I did not intend to go home. I—well, it doesn't matter; I am going home now."
A woman in a calico dress, with two children, each an exact duplicate of the other, had come quickly down the road. She took in the situation at a glance, and was explosively hospitable.
"You poor things," she said. "If you'll take the first road to the left over there, and turn in at the second pigsty, you will find breakfast on the table and a coffee-pot on the stove. And there's plenty of soap and water, too. Don't say one word. There isn't a soul there to see you."
We accepted the invitation and she hurried on toward the excitement and the railroad. I got up carefully and helped Miss West to her feet.
"At the second pigsty to the left," I repeat-
