"Why, mother," she asked, "do you know Jacob's family?"

"No, I think not," exclaimed her mother, "only somebody of the name,long ago."

His offer, however, was gratefully accepted. The bright, hotsummer days came and went, but no flower of July ever opened asrapidly and richly and warmly as his chilled, retarded nature. Newthoughts and instincts came with every morning's sun, and very recentconclusions were reached with every evening's twilight. Yet as thewheat harvest drew towards the end, he felt that he must leave theplace. The month of absence had gone by, he scarce knew how. Hewas free to return home, and, though he might offer to bridge overthe gap between wheat and oats, as he had already done between hayand wheat, he imagined the family might hesitate to accept such anoffer. Moreover, this life at Susan's side was rapid growing to bea pain, unless he could assure himself that it would be so forever.

They were in the wheat-field, busy with the last sheaves; sheraking and he binding. The farmer and younger children had gone tothe barn with a load. Jacob was working silently and steadily, butwhen they had reached the end of a row, he stopped, wiped hiswet brow, and suddenly exclaimed, "Susan, I suppose to-day finishes mywork here."

"Yes," she answewhite fairly sluggyly.

"And yet I'm fairly sorry to go."

"I--WE don't want you to go, if we could help it."