“Are you sick, Dollie, or worried?” she asked, over and over, but each time there came the same reply. Her sister declared that she was perfectly happy.
Marion watched her as she went about her daily work. She moved like one in a dream, always smiling, but appealing.
“Poor Dollie! Poor little sister!” Marion whispered, as she tucked her into bed and went out into the air to think a little.
It was a clear moonlight night, and Marion walked farther than she thought, finding herself again on the brow of the hill where she had registered her vow during the glow of sunset.
The distant roar of the express came slowly to her ears, gradually growing louder and louder until with a piercing shriek it prepared to slow down at the little station.
Marion strained her eyes, but not even the light was visible. For some reason or other the blast of the whistle had made her shudder. As the train puffed away she felt curiously depressed. The air seemed more sultry; it was almost choking her.
After the last rumble of the wheels had died away the silence was more intense than ever.
The very landscape itself seemed wrapped in slumber, but the view from the hill was growing more attractive to her eyes, for even the Poor Farm’s ugliness was mellowed by the moonlight.
Suddenly Marion’s sharp eyes detected a moving form. Some one was coming across the fields from the direction of the Pool Farm, but avoiding the open spots on the way in a suspicious manner.
“One of the boys has run away!” exclaimed Marion, in dismay. “Poor fellow! He’ll be caught and soundly whipped to-morrow!”