"Seems to me," said Andrew, dryly, feeling as if he would like to choke Mrs. Morris—"seems to me the brunt of that bad luck fell on her."
"I wish I'd never seen salt," said Judith. "Do you think any bad luck will come of it?"
"Nonsense," said Andrew, and somehow his manlike scorn did much to reassure Judith, but when the others were not looking, she pushed the offending salt as far as possible from her.
Mr. Morris was to call for them, and he arrived very soon, but in the meantime the evening had grown a little chill, and Judith had no wrap. She denied feeling cold, but as they stood in the porch she shivered. Andrew ran in and brought out a huge homespun shawl and bundled her up in it; her face, in contrast to its heavy rough folds, looked very delicate and white.
She was seated alone in the second seat of the democrat waggon. Andrew came to her side; his eyes were nearly on a level with hers.
"You never showed me the birds' nests!" she said.
"Oh, you must come back and see those," he said eagerly. "You will come back?"
"As often as Miss Myers will let me," said Judith, unaffectedly. "And"—she coloured a little—-"you'll come and see my bird's nest in the field?"
"Yes, to-morrow," said Andrew.
Mr. Morris shook the reins over the old sorrel. Judith bent over giving Andrew her hand.