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"Why should you take it upon yourself to mend a roof for the Quaker woman?" demanded her uncle.

"She lives all alone—" began Kit.

"She is a heretic, and she refuses to attend Meeting. She has no claim on your charity."

"But someone ought to help her, Uncle Matthew."

"If she wants help, let her repent her sin. You are never to go to that place again, Katherine. I forbid it."

Morosely Kit followed the family into the house.

"Don't mind too much, Kit," Mercy whispered. "Hannah will be all right if she has that seaman to help her. I liked his looks."

CHAPTER 13

"TO THINK you've never been to a husking bee!" exclaimed Judith. "Why, they're more fun than all the holidays put together."

"Just husking corn all the evening?" It sounded to Kit like an odd sort of party. Her arms still ached from wresting the heavy ears from the stalks, row after row, hour after hour.

"Oh, it doesn't seem like work when everyone does it together. We all sing, and Jeb Whitney brings his fiddle, and there's cakes and apples and cider. Oh, I always think autumn is the very best time of the year!"

"They say the crop is not too plentiful this year," Mercy put in slyly. "Could be there won't be as many red ears as usual."

Judith tossed her head. "I'll find one, never you fear," she said blithely. "I have my own methods."

"Red ears? Are they better than the others?" At Kit's innocent question her two cousins burst into peals of merriment.

"You wait and see," advised Judith. "Come to think of it, I guess I'll make certain that William gets one, too. Then you'll find out!" At her own sudden suspicion, Kit blushed crimson.

In a rare mood of intimacy Judith linked arms with Kit as they set out along High Street to gather the last of the corn in the meadow. It was more than the sparkling September air that accounted for her high spirits.

"I just feel it in my bones," she confided, "that something wonderful is going to happen tonight at the corn husking."

Judith's excitement was contagious. Kit began to feel a tingle of anticipation. Though she still couldn't see how anyone could make a festivity out of hard dusty work, it was the first party of any sort to which she had been invited in Wethersfield. The few young people she had come to know, the ones she had seen at Sabbath Meeting and Lecture Day, would all be there.

"I never knew you could predict the future," she laughed, "but I hope you're right."

"I know I am," said Judith, "because this time I'm going to see to it that something happens. I've made up my mind."

"You mean—John Holbrook?"

"Of course I mean John. You know how he is, Kit. So serious and shy. He'll never be able to find his tongue if I don't help him out."

"But John is still a student—"

"I know. He hasn't any property like William, or any way to support me yet. That's why he doesn't speak. But I know how John feels, and I know how I feel, and why should we wait forever without even making plans? And what could ever be a better time than a husking bee?"

"Judith—" Kit ventured doubtfully, "do you really think—?"

"You'd better be thinking about your own affairs," laughed Judith. "William isn't like John. He's like me. When he's made up his mind he isn't going to wait forever."

Why did Judith have to remind her? Kit thought wryly. Ever since the day of William's house-raising, when the neighbors had gathered together and, working from dawn to sunset, had raised a fine imposing frame and nailed the sturdy new clapboards in place, Kit had known that William was only waiting a propitious time to speak. She had long since decided what her answer would be. As William's wife she could come and go as she pleased. There would be no more endless drudgery, and she could snap her fingers at a woman like Goodwife Cruff. Besides, William ad. mired her. In spite of the fact that he was often be wildered and scandalized, he was still as infatuated at he had been that first Sabbath morning. Then why did Judith's teasing always raise