a lady. Get her acquainted with the right kind of peo- ple." In secret he hoped she would meet and marry some young man while she was away. Two of his sis- ters had gone away to school and it had turned out that way. During the month before his daughter left home the farmer tried to be somewhat more human and gentle in his attitude toward her, but did not succeed in dispell- ing the dislike of himself that had taken deep root in her nature. At table he made jokes at which the farm hands laughed boisterously. Then he looked at his daughter who did not appear to have been listen- ing. Clara ate quickly and hurried out of the room. She did not go to visit her girl friends in town and the young school teacher came no more to see her. Dur- ing the long summer afternoons she walked in the or- chard among the beehives or climbed over fences and went into a wood, where she sat for hours on a fallen log staring at the trees and the sky. Tom Butter- worth also hurried out of his house. He pretended to be busy and every day drove far and wide over the country. Sometimes he thought he had been brutal and crude in his treatment of his daughter, and decided he would speak to her regarding the matter and ask her to fol-give him. Then his suspicion returned. He struck the horse with the whip and drove furiously along the lonely roads. " Well, there's something wrong," he muttered aloud. " Men don't just look at women and approach them boldly, as that young fellow did with Clara. He did it before my very eyes. He's been given some encouragement." An old suspicion awoke in him. " There was something wrong with her mother, and there's something wrong with her. I'll be
