She
was a pretty woman, and she had not been married long. She nodded to
Barney as she hurried past him, holding up her gay-flowered calico
skirt tidily. Her smooth fair hair shone like satin in the sun; she
wore a little blue kerchief tied over her head, and it slipped back
as she ran against the wind. She did not speak to Barney nor smile;
he thought her handsome face looked severely at him. She had always
known him, although she had not been one of his mates; she was
somewhat older.
Barney felt a pang of misery as this fair, severe, and happy face
passed him by. He wondered if she had been up to Charlotte's, and if
Charlotte or her mother had been talking to her, and if she knew
about Thomas Payne. He watched her out of sight in a swirl of gay
skirts, her blue and golden head bobbing with her dancing steps; then
he glanced over his shoulder at his poor new house, with its fireless
chimneys. If all had gone well, he and Charlotte would have been
married by this time, and she would have been bestirring herself to
get supper for him--perhaps running home from a neighbor's with her
sewing as this other woman was doing. All the sweet domestic comfort
which he had missed seemed suddenly to toss above his eyes like the
one desired fruit of his whole life; its wonderful unknown flavor
tantalized his soul. All at once he thought how Charlotte would
prepare supper for another man, and the thought seemed to tear his
heart like a panther.
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