A light hurried step on the stair warned them to silence; the door was pushed open and Fanny Dodge entered the kitchen.  She was wearing the freshly ironed white dress, garnished with crisp pink ribbons; her cheeks were brilliant with color, her pretty head poised high.

“I changed my mind,” said she, in a hard, sweet voice.  “I decided I’d go, after all.  My—­my head feels better.”

Mother and son exchanged stealthy glances behind the girl’s back as she leaned toward the cracked mirror between the windows, apparently intent upon capturing an airy tendril of hair which had escaped confinement.

“That’s real sensible, Fanny,” approved Mrs. Dodge with perfunctory cheerfulness.  “I want you should go out all you can, whilest you’re young, an’ have a good time.”

Jim Dodge was silent; but the scowl between his eyes deepened.

Mrs. Dodge formed three words with her lips, as she shook her head at him warningly.

Fanny burst into a sudden ringing laugh.

“Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother,” she cried.  “I don’t care what Jim says to me; he can say anything he likes.”

[Illustration:  “Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother,” she cried.]

Her beautiful face, half turned over her shoulder, quivered slightly.

“If you knew how I—­” she began, then stopped short.

“That’s just what I was saying to Jim,” put in her mother eagerly.

The girl flung up both hands in a gesture of angry protest.

“Please don’t talk about me, mother—­to Jim, or anybody.  Do you hear?”

Her voice shrilled suddenly loud and harsh, like an untuned string under the bow.

Jim Dodge flung his hat on his head with an impatient exclamation.

“Come on, Fan,” he said roughly.  “Nobody’s going to bother you.  Don’t you worry.”

Mrs. Dodge had gone back to her kneading board and was thumping the dough with regular slapping motions of her capable hands, but her thin dark face was drawn into a myriad folds and puckers of anxiety.

Fanny stooped and brushed the lined forehead with her fresh young lips.

“Goodnight, mother,” said she.  “I wish you were going.”

She drew back a little and looked down at her mother, smiling brilliantly.

“And don’t you worry another minute about me, mother,” she said resolutely.  “I’m all right.”

“Oh, I do hope so, child,” returned her mother, sniffing back her ready tears.  “I’d hate to feel that you—­”

The girl hurried to the door, where her brother stood watching her.

“Come on, Jim,” she said.  “We have to stop for Ellen.”

She followed him down the narrow path to the gate, holding her crisp white skirts well away from the dew-drenched border.  As the two emerged upon the road, lying white before them under the brilliant moonlight, Fanny glanced up timidly at her brother’s dimly seen profile under the downward sweep of his hat-brim.