'Tilda Jane drew in her wandering gaze from the window, and fixed it desperately on Poacher, who was lying under the stove winking sadly but amiably at her. Was no one perfect? Lucas hunted deer, this good dog helped him, his boys were naughty, this woman was a sloven and a kind of thief, her boy was a rogue, and she herself--'Tilda Jane was a little runaway girl. "You can have this tippet," she said, sternly. "That shawl's got to be sent back to where it comes from."