But Draxy was wise.  She had the sagacity which comes from great tenderness and loyalty, combined with a passionate nature.  In such a woman’s soul there is sometimes an almost supernatural instinct.  She will detect danger and devise safety with a rapidity and ingenuity which are incredible.  But to such a nature will also come the subtlest and deepest despairs of which the human heart is capable.  The same instinct which foresees and devises for the loved ones will also recognize their most hidden traits, their utmost possibilities, their inevitable limitations, with a completeness and infallibility akin to that of God Himself.  Jane Miller, all her life long, believed in the possibility of Reuben’s success; charged his failures to outside occasions, and hoped always in a better day to come.  Draxy, early in her childhood, instinctively felt, what she was far too young consciously to know, that her father would never be a happier man; that “things” would always go against him.  She had a deeper reverence for the uprightness and sweet simplicity of his nature than her mother ever could have had.  She comprehended, Jane believed; Draxy felt, Jane saw.  Without ever having heard of such a thing as fate, little Draxy recognized that her father was fighting with it, and that fate was the stronger!  Her little arms clasped closer and closer round his neck, and her serene blue eyes, so like his, and yet so wondrously unlike, by reason of their latent fire and strength, looked this unseen enemy steadfastly in the face, day by day.

She was a wonderful child.  Her physical health was perfect.  The first ten years of her life were spent either out of doors, or in her father’s lap.  He would not allow her to attend the district school; all she knew she learned from him.  Reuben Miller had never looked into an English grammar or a history, but he knew Shakespeare by heart, and much of Homer; a few odd volumes of Walter Scott’s novels, some old voyages, a big family Bible, and a copy of Byron, were the only other books in his house.  As Draxy grew older, Reuben now and then borrowed from the minister books which he thought would do her good; but the child and he both loved Homer and the Bible so much better than any later books, that they soon drifted back to them.  It was a little sad, except that it was so beautiful, to see the isolated life these two led in the family.  The boys were good, sturdy, noisy boys.  They went to school in the winter and worked on the farm in the summer, like all farmers’ boys.  Reuben, the oldest, was eighteen when Draxy was ten; he was hired, by a sort of indenture, for three years, on a neighboring farm, and came home only on alternate Sundays.  Jamie, and Sam, and Lawton were at home; young as they were, they did men’s service in many ways.  Jamie had a rare gift for breaking horses, and for several years the only ready money which the little farm had yielded was the price of the colts which Jamie raised and trained so admirably that they sold