She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. I am an independent sort of person,” she continued, “and I am engaged in an attempt to earn my own living. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. Then she went below. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe.
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