From this east porch where they sat they could see down the long line of dusty road that led to the church and the few houses clustered round it, which passed for a village. The farmhouse stood on the top of a high hill; and up this hill they now saw a woman toiling slowly. The summer sun burned fiercely down on her, the dust rose with every step in a choking cloud about her, but still she struggled on.
Little events are full of interest in country solitudes, and both Grant and his wife watched the wanderer with curiosity.
"Well, I never saw her before, that's certain," the husband said, after a long look as she drew nearer.
"Nor I," returned his wife. "But see, Mark, she has a baby in her arms. She's trying to keep the sun off it with that shawl; and, sure as you live, she is turning in here."
"Why, so she is;" and Grant rose to his feet.
"May I sit down in the shade and rest?" asked the stranger, drawing nigh. She spoke in a clear, silvery voice, which betrayed some of her secrets, since it was the voice of a lady, and also it was the utterance of despair, for its hopeless monotone was unvarying.
"Certainly," and Mrs. Grant rose and offered her own low chair, for clearly this was no common tramp.
"And might I trouble you for a glass of water?"
"I'll go for some fresh," Grant said, full of hospitable intent.
But before he got back with the water he heard his wife calling him, and hurrying forward at the sound, he found her holding the stranger's head, on her shoulder, and the baby, who was just opening sleepy eyes, in her arms.