A realistic account of the dark underside of an insular New England village.
and Barnabas heard the inner door open. He threw open the outer one himself, and Charlotte stood there smiling, and softly decorous. Neither of them spoke. Barnabas glanced at the inner door to see if it were closed, then he caught Charlotte's hands and kissed her.
"You shouldn't do so, Barnabas," whispered Charlotte, turning her face away. She was as tall as Barnabas, and as handsome.
"Yes, I should," persisted Barnabas, all radiant, and his face pursued hers around her shoulder.
"It's pretty cold out, ain't it?" said Charlotte, in a chiding voice which she could scarcely control.
"I've been in to see our house. Give me one more kiss. Oh, Charlotte!"
"Charlotte!" cried a deep voice, and the lovers started apart.
"I'm coming, father," Charlotte cried out. She opened the door and went soberly into the kitchen, with Barnabas at her heels. Her father, mother, and Aunt Sylvia Crane sat there in the red gleam of the firelight and gathering twilight. Sylvia sat a little behind the others, and her
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