"Too bad," rejoined Carley, thoughtfully. This information as to the

suffering of American soldiers had augmented during the last few months,

and seemed to possess strange, poignant power to depress Carley. Always

she had turned away from the unpleasant. And the misery of unfortunates

was as disturbing almost as direct contact with disease and squalor. But

it had begun to dawn upon Carley that there might occur circumstances of

life, in every way affronting her comfort and happiness, which it would

be impossible to turn her back upon.

At this juncture Flo returned to the room, and again Carley was struck

with the girl's singular freedom of movement and the sense of sure poise

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and joy that seemed to emanate from her presence.

"I've made a fire in your little stove," she said. "There's water

heating. Now won't you come up and change those traveling clothes.

You'll want to fix up for Glenn, won't you?"

Carley had to smile at that. This girl indeed was frank and

unsophisticated, and somehow refreshing. Carley rose.

"You are both very good to receive me as a friend," she said. "I hope

I shall not disappoint you.... Yes, I do want to improve my appearance

before Glenn sees me.... Is there any way I can send word to him--by

someone who has not seen me?"

"There shore is. I'll send Charley, one of our hired boys."

"Thank you. Then tell him to say there is a lady here from New York to

see him, and it is very important."

Flo Hutter clapped her hands and laughed with glee. Her gladness gave

Carley a little twinge of conscience. Jealously was an unjust and

stifling thing.

Carley was conducted up a broad stairway and along a boarded hallway

to a room that opened out on the porch. A steady low murmur of falling

water assailed her ears. Through the open door she saw across the porch

to a white tumbling lacy veil of water falling, leaping, changing, so

close that it seemed to touch the heavy pole railing of the porch.

This room resembled a tent. The sides were of canvas. It had no ceiling.

But the roughhewn shingles of the roof of the house sloped down closely.

The furniture was home made. An Indian rug covered the floor. The bed

with its woolly clean blankets and the white pillows looked inviting.

"Is this where Glenn lay--when he was sick?" queried Carley.

"Yes," replied Flo, gravely, and a shadow darkened her eyes. "I ought to

tell you all about it. I will some day. But you must not be made unhappy

now.... Glenn nearly died here. Mother or I never left his side--for a

while there--when life was so bad."




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