Will it be for you ?" "No, I think not." "Won't you ?" said Clam wishingly.

"I'll do work for you." "Thank you.

Maybe you shall." "I'm goin' home now," said Clam, getting up and shouldering her basket.
"The storm's too bad yet," said Winthrop.
"Crackey! what do you think I care for that! The rain won't wet _me_ much." "Come to my house to-morrow, if you want to see me again," said Winthrop, -- "about dinner-time." Clam nodded, and fixing her bright eyes very intently first on one and then on the other of the friends she was leaving, she ended with a long parting look at Winthrop which lasted till she had passed from sight out of the door of the shed.
The violence of the storm was gone over; but though the thunder sounded now in the distance and the lightning played fainter, the rain fell yet all around them, in a gentle and very full shower.
"Do you suppose she has six miles to go ?" said Elizabeth.
"No." "I thought you answered as if you believed her when she said so." "It isn't best to tell all one's thoughts," said Winthrop smiling.
Elizabeth went back to her box seat.
"I wish the rain would let us go home too," she said.
"Your wishes are so accustomed to smooth travelling, they don't know what to make of a hindrance," said her companion.
Elizabeth knew it was true, and it vexed her.

It seemed to imply that she had not been tried by life, and that nobody knew what she would be till she was tried.

That was a very disagreeable thought.