He found Ellen waiting for him in the doorway and decided as he crossed the porch that she was going to be a pretty girl. Still there was no trace of her mother about her, and little of him--perhaps from his own unknown mother she had inherited her thick curls and her black eyes.
"I have learned what you gave me to learn," she boasted. "Does Matthew like Philadelphia?"
"You are to go to Umbesheidens' and to Heilmans' right away."
Then Ellen felt a little uncomfortable. Something had happened, but it was too small a thing to tell. She had met Amos one afternoon in the woodland. He had been required by a new school law to give a small amount of instruction in botany and had come to find oak leaves. He was sitting on the stump which was her special seat and, glad to see him and ready to talk, she sat down at once on the fallen tree near by.
Amos did not answer. His curious passion seemed suddenly entirely reasonable. Ellen's hair had gone up, her dresses down.
"It's pretty much like always," said he at last. "But you're not there." Then he added hastily, "And Matthew is not there."
Amos hesitated. The boys were very stupid, but it was against his code to speak in such fashion of any one.
"And Millie? How does she get her lessons?"
"She is no longer there. Oh, Ellen, I wish you would come back!"
"But I'm almost through what you teach," said Ellen. "I couldn't stay long if I did come. And I couldn't come, anyway. Two years from now I'm going to college."
"Oh, Ellen, I hope you'll be a good girl!"
Ellen stirred uncomfortably at the solemnity in Amos's expression.
"I won't. Father says you taught me very well."
"I mean you're not to forget other things--the true Gospel and the health of your soul."
"I will remember all that," said Ellen quickly, frightened by this sudden allusion to her soul.
"And don't forget me, and that I'm praying for you!"
"I won't," promised Ellen. "Indeed, I won't." Nervously she rose from her place on the old log. It was late afternoon and the shadows suddenly deepened. She held out her hand. The heart which stirred quickly at another's need felt vaguely Amos's misery. "I must go back. I--" she was still a child until she had uttered her childish sentence--"I'll kiss you if you wish, Amos!"