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this: if things don’t go well with you, you’re always welcome to come to me, and we’ll make out somehow. I just love you like my own.”
    Amorelle came away comforted at last, with a happy little feeling that there
was
a haven for her if everything else should fail. It was good to know there was a refuge, even if she knew she never would let herself seek it unless she had money enough to be a help and not a hindrance to this hard-working woman.
    But as Amorelle went in the back gate and unlocked the kitchen door of the manse, she heard the front door bell ringing violently, and she wondered if some of her tormentors had already arrived.
    In trepidation Amorelle hurried through to the front door and opened it to find Johnny Brewster standing there, red and embarrassed, his big hands revolving his straw hat nervously, his red curls newly wet and slicked back, a spruce dark blue coat buttoned over the old brown sweater he usually wore on weekdays. His grocery truck was parked halfway down the street on the other side.
    Ordinarily Amorelle was very good friends with Johnny. He had been an eager member of the Christian Endeavor under her leadership, a willing helper at all Sunday school picnics, church socials, and the like, and an ardent lover of her father. She had always had a pleasant word and a smile for him, and he had always seemed to admire her respectfully from afar, never by word or look presuming to offer her personal attention. But now, as he stood there fumbling his hat and looking at her out of oddly frightened eyes, their relationship seemed somehow to have changed. With a horrible memory of Mrs. Brisbane and her ill-timed suggestions, the girl began to quake with strange premonition.
    “I—You—” began Johnny awkwardly. “That is, may I come in a minute? Are you very busy, Miss Amorelle?”
    He had always called her Miss Amorelle. It had been the outward sign of his recognition of the difference between them in class and education.
    “Oh, why come right in, Johnny!” she said, trying to make her voice sound bright and natural. “Sit down, won’t you?”
    Ordinarily Johnny would have breezed in respectfully and remained standing while he told his errand. This time, however, he strode into the parlor and sat down on the edge of the first chair that presented itself, twiddling his hat wildly as if the motion of it would help him keep his equilibrium.
    Amorelle looked at him with trouble in her eyes and dropped weakly in the big chair opposite him, trying to disarm her fears. Probably he had only come to offer her sympathy and didn’t know what to say, poor lad. Oh, was everybody in the parish going to come? How could she stand such long-drawn-out, sorrowful kindness?
    Johnny’s good, honest face flushed painfully as he lifted anguished eyes to her gaze and plunged wildly in.
    “I wanted ta come and tell ya how sorry I am fer ya, Miss Amorelle!” he began. “I sure did love your father. He sure was a great preacher!”
    Amorelle drew a breath of relief and smiled.
    “Oh, thank you, Johnny. I do appreciate your sympathy,” she said. “And Father was always very fond of you. He was proud of the splendid Christian stand you took among your friends.”
    The young man flushed with pleasure, and then he looked wildly around the room as if clutching for another sentence to help him through and began again.
    “That was why,” he said earnestly, “that was why I wanted ta come—at least I dared ta come—that is I come ta offer ya my sympathy—that is my—help. That is, anything I cud do fer ya.”
    “Oh, you are very kind, Johnny,” said Amorelle, looking at him with puzzled eyes.
    “No, it ain’t kindness!” he blurted out embarrassedly. “I’ve always thought an awful lot of ya. That is, I’ve always thought ya were wonderful. But I never dreamed—that is, I never wouldda presumed—and I don’t know as you’d consider it now, Miss Amorelle, an’ ef ya wouldn’t it’s all right with