Audrey

These were her rose-colored visions. At other times a terror took her by

the shoulders, holding her until her face whitened and her eyes grew wide

and dark. The way was long and the leaves were falling fast, and she

thought that it might be true that in this world into which she had

awakened there was for her no home. The cold would come, and she might

have no bread, and for all her wandering find none to take her in. In

those forests of the west the wolves ran in packs, and the Indians burned

and wasted. Some bitter night-time she would die.... Watching the sky from

Fair View windows, perhaps he might idly mark a falling star.

All that day she walked, keeping as far as was possible to the woods, but

forced now and again to traverse open fields and long stretches of sunny

road. If she saw any one coming, she hid in the roadside bushes, or, if

that could not be done, walked steadily onward, with her head bent and her

heart beating fast. It must have been a day for minding one's own

business, for none stayed or questioned her. Her dinner she begged from

some children whom she found in a wood gathering nuts. Supper she had

none. When night fell, she was glad to lay herself down upon a bed of

leaves that she had raked together; but she slept little, for the wind

moaned in the half-clad branches, and she could not cease from counting

the stars that shot. In the morning, numbed and cold, she went slowly on

until she came to a wayside house. Quaker folk lived there; and they asked

her no question, but with kind words gave her of what they had, and let

her rest and grow warm in the sunshine upon their doorstep. She thanked

them with shy grace, but presently, when they were not looking, rose and

went her way. Upon the second day she kept to the road. It was loss of

time wandering in the woods, skirting thicket and marsh, forced ever and

again to return to the beaten track. She thought, also, that she must be

safe, so far was she now from Fair View. How could they guess that she was

gone to the mountains?

About midday, two men on horseback looked at her in passing. One spoke to

the other, and turning their horses they put after and overtook her. He

who had spoken touched her with the butt of his whip. "Ecod!" he

exclaimed. "It's the lass we saw run for a guinea last May Day at

Jamestown! Why so far from home, light o' heels?"

A wild leap of her heart, a singing in her ears, and Audrey clutched at

safety.

"I be Joan, the smith's daughter," she said stolidly. "I niver ran for a

guinea. I niver saw a guinea. I be going an errand for feyther."