to the house and went upstairs to her own room. A farm dog followed her up the stairs and stood at her door wagging his tail. She shut the door in his face. For the moment everything that lived and breathed seemed to her gross and ugly. Her cheeks were pale and she pulled shut the blinds to the window and sat down on the bed, overcome with the strange new fear of life. She did not want even the sunlight to come into her presence. John May had followed her through the barn and now stood in the barnyard star- ing at the house. She could see him through the cracks of the blinds and wished it were possible to kill him with a gesture of her hand. The farm hand, full of male confidence, waited for her to come to the window and look down at him. He wondered if there were any one else in the house. Per- haps she would beckon to him. Something of the kind had happened between him and the doctor's wife and it had turned out that way. When after five or ten min- utes he did not see her, he went back to the work of oiling the wagon wheels. " It's going to be a slower thing. She's shy, a green girl," he told himself. One evening a week later Clara sat on the side porch of the house with her father when John May came into the barnyard. It was a Wednesday even- ing and the farm hands were not in the habit of go- ing into town until Saturday, but he was dressed in his Sunday clothes and had shaved and oiled his hair. On the occasion of a wedding or a funeral the laborers put oil in their hair. It was indicative of something very important about to happen. Clara looked at him, and in spite of the feeling of repugnance that swept over her, her eyes glistened. Ever since the af-
