[Illustration: "Money!" she whispered. "He must have hidden itbefore--before--"]

AnAlabaster Box

By

Mary E. Wilkins FreemanandFlorence Morse Kingsley

Illustrated byStockton Mulford

D. Appleton and Company

New York London

1917

. .. .. . There came a woman, having an alabaster box of ointment, veryprecious; and she broke the box. .. .. 

Chapter I

"We, " said Mrs. Solomon Black with weighty emphasis, "are going toget up a church fair and raise that money, and we are going to payyour salary. We can't stand it another minute. We had better run indebt to the butcher and baker than to the Lord. "

Wesley Elliot regarded her gloomily. "I never liked the idea ofchurch fairs very well, " he returned hesitatingly. "It has alwaysseemed to me like sheer beggary. "

"Then, " said Mrs. Solomon Black, "we will beg. "

Mrs. Solomon Black was a woman who had always had her way. There wasnot one line which denoted yielding in her large, still handsomeface, set about with very elaborate water-waves which she hadarranged so many years that her black hair needed scarcely anyattention. It would almost seem as if Mrs. Solomon Black had beenborn with water waves. 

She spoke firmly but she smiled, as his mother might have done, atthe young man, who had preached his innocent best in Brookville formonths without any emolument. 

"Now don't you worry one mite about it, " said she. "Church fairs maybe begging, but they belong to the history of the United States ofAmerica, and I miss my guess if there would have been much preachingof the gospel in a good many places without them. I guess it ain'tany worse to hold church fairs in this country than it is to have theoutrageous goings on in the old country. I guess we can cheat alittle with mats and cakes and things and not stand any more dangerof hell-fire than all those men putting each other's eyes out andkilling everybody they can hit, and spending the money for guns andawful exploding stuff that ought to go for the good of the world. Iain't worried one mite about church fairs when the world is where itis now. You just run right into your study, Mr. Elliot, and finishyour sermon; and there's a pan of hot doughnuts on the kitchen table. You go through the kitchen and get some doughnuts. We had breakfastearly and you hadn't ought to work too hard on an empty stomach. Yourun along. Don't you worry. All this is up to me and Maria Dodge andAbby Daggett and a few others. You haven't got one blessed thing todo with it. All you've got to do is to preach as well as you can, andkeep us from a free fight. Almost always there is a fuss when womenget up a fair. If you can preach the gospel so we are all on speakingterms when it is finished, you will earn your money twice over. Runalong. "

Wesley Elliot obeyed. He always obeyed, at least in the literalsense, when Mrs. Solomon Black ordered him. There was about her afairly masterly maternity. She loved the young minister as firmly forhis own good as if he had been her son. She chuckled happily when sheheard him open the kitchen door. "He'll light into those hotdoughnuts, " she thought. She loved to pet the boy in the man. 

Wesley Elliot in his study upstairs--a makeshift of a study--satmunching hot doughnuts and reflecting. He had only about one-third ofhis sermon written and it was Saturday, but that did not disturb him. He had a quick-moving mind. He sometimes wondered whether it did notmove too quickly. Wesley was not a conceited man in one sense. Henever had doubt of his power, but he had grave doubts of the meritsof his productions. However, today he was glad of the high rate ofspeed of which he was capable, and did not worry as much as hesometimes did about his landing at the exact goal. He knew very wellthat he could finish his sermon, easily, eat his doughnuts, and sitreflecting as long as he chose. He chose to do so for a long time, although his reflections were not particularly happy ones. When hehad left the theological seminary a year ago, he had had his lifeplanned out so exactly that it did not seem possible to him that theplans could fail. He had graduated at the head of his class. He hadhad no doubt of a city church. One of the professors, a rich man withmuch influence, had practically promised him one. Wesley went home tohis doting mother, and told her the news. Wesley's mother believed inmuch more than the city church. She believed her son to be capable ofanything. "I shall have a large salary, mother, " boasted Wesley, "andyou shall have the best clothes money can buy, and the parsonage issure to be beautiful. "

"How will your old mother look in fine feathers, in such a beautifulhome?" asked Wesley's mother, but she asked as a lovely, much-pettedwoman asks such a question. She had her little conscious smile allready for the rejoinder which she knew her son would not fail togive. He was very proud of his mother. 

"Why, mother, " he said, "as far as that goes, I wouldn't balk at athrone for you as queen dowager. "

"You are a silly boy, " said Mrs. Elliot, but she stole a glance atherself in an opposite mirror, and smiled complacently. She did notlook old enough to be the mother of her son. She was tall andslender, and fair-haired, and she knew how to dress well on her verysmall income. She was rosy, and carried herself with a sweetserenity. People said Wesley would not need a wife as long as he hadsuch a mother. But he did not have her long. Only a month later shedied, and while the boy was still striving to play the rôle of heroin that calamity, there came news of another. His professor friendhad a son in the trenches. The son had been wounded, and the fatherhad obeyed a hurried call, found his son dead, and himself died ofthe shock on the return voyage. Wesley, mourning the man who had beenhis stanch friend, was guiltily conscious of his thwarted ambition. "There goes my city church, " he thought, and flung the thought backat himself in anger at his own self-seeking. He was forced intoaccepting the first opportunity which offered. His mother had anannuity, which he himself had insisted upon for her greater comfort. When she died, the son was nearly penniless, except for the house, which was old and in need of repair. 

He rented that as soon as he received his call to Brookville, afterpreaching a humiliating number of trial sermons in other places. Wesley was of the lowly in mind, with no expectation of inheritingthe earth, when he came to rest in the little village and beganboarding at Mrs. Solomon Black's. But even then he did not know howbad the situation really was. He had rented his house, and the rentkept him in decent clothes, but not enough books. He had only alittle shelf filled with the absolutely necessary volumes, most ofthem relics of his college course. He did not know that there wassmall chance of even his meager salary being paid until June, and hehad been ordained in February. He had wondered why nobody saidanything about his reimbursement. He had refrained from mentioningit, to even his deacons. 

Mrs. Solomon Black had revealed the state of affairs, that morning. "You may as well know, " said she. "There ain't a cent to pay you, andI said when you came that if we couldn't pay for gospel privileges weshould all take to our closets and pray like Sam Hill, and no charge;but they wouldn't listen to me, though I spoke right out inconference meeting and it's seldom a woman does that, you know. Folksin this place have been hanging onto the ragged edge of nothing solong they don't seem to sense it. They thought the money for yoursalary was going to be brought down from heaven by a dove orsomething, when all the time, those wicked flying things are goinground on the other side of the earth, and there don't seem as ifthere could be a dove left. Well, now that the time's come when youought to be paid, if there's any decency left in the place, theycomes to me and says, 'Oh, Mrs. Black, what shall we do?' I said, 'Why didn't you listen when I spoke out in meeting about our notbeing able to afford luxuries like gospel preaching?' and they saidthey thought matters would have improved by this time. Improved! How, I'd like to know? The whole world is sliding down hill faster andfaster every minute, and folks in Brookville think matters are goingto improve, when they are sliding right along with the Emperor ofGermany and the King of England, and all the rest of the big bugs. Ican't figure it out, but in some queer, outlandish way that war overthere has made it so folks in Brookville can't pay their minister'ssalary. They didn't have much before, but such a one got a little forselling eggs and chickens that has had to eat them, and the streetrailway failed, and the chair factory, that was the only industryleft here, failed, and folks that had a little to pay had to eattheir payings. And here you are, and it's got to be the fair. Seemsqueer the war in Europe should be the means of getting up a fair inBrookville, but I guess it'll get up more'n that before they'rethrough fighting. "

All this had been the preliminary to the speech which sent Wesleyforth for doughnuts, then to his study, ostensibly to finish hislovely sermon, but in reality to think thoughts which made his youngforehead, of almost boyhood, frown, and his pleasant mouth droop, then inexplicably smooth and smile. It was a day which no man in theflush of youth could resist. That June day fairly rioted in throughthe open windows. Mrs. Black's muslin curtains danced in the Junebreeze like filmy-skirted nymphs. Wesley, whose imagination wasactive, seemed to see forced upon his eager, yet reluctant, eyes, radiant maidens, flinging their white draperies about, dancing adance of the innocence which preludes the knowledge of love. Sweetscents came in through the windows, almond scents, honey scents, rosescents, all mingled into an ineffable bouquet of youth and the questof youth. 

Wesley rose stealthily; he got his hat; he tiptoed across the room. Heavens! how thankful he was for access to the back stairs. Mrs. Black was sweeping the parlor, and the rear of the house wasdeserted. Down the precipitous back stairs crept the young minister, listening to the sound of the broom on Mrs. Black's parlor carpet. Aslong as that regular swish continued he was safe. Through the kitchenhe passed, feeling guilty as he smelled new peas cooking for hisdelectation on Mrs. Black's stove. Out of the kitchen door, under thegreen hood of the back porch, and he was afield, and the day had himfast. He did not belong any more to his aspirations, to his high andnoble ambitions, to his steadfast purpose in life. He belonged to thespring of the planet from which his animal life had sprung. YoungWesley Elliot became one with June, with eternal youth, with joywhich escapes care, with the present which has nothing to do with thepast or the future, with that day sufficient unto itself, that daydangerous for those whose feet are held fast by the toils of theyears. 

Wesley sped across a field which was like a field of green glory. Hesaw a hollow like a nest, blue with violets, and all his thoughtsleaped with irresponsive joy. He crossed a brook on rocky stones, asif he were crossing a song. A bird sang in perfect tune with hismood. He was bound for a place which had a romantic interest for him:the unoccupied parsonage, which he could occupy were he supplied witha salary and had a wife. He loved to sit on the back veranda anddream. Sometimes he had company. Brookville was a hot little village, with a long line of hills cutting off the south wind, but on thatback veranda of the old parsonage there was always a breeze. Sometimes it seemed mysterious to Wesley, that breeze. It neverfailed in the hottest days. Now that the parsonage was vacant, womenoften came there with their needlework of an afternoon, and sat andsewed and chatted. Wesley knew of the custom, and had made themwelcome. But sometimes of a morning a girl came. Wesley wondered ifshe would be there that morning. After he had left the field, heplunged knee-deep through the weedage of his predecessor's garden, and heart-deep into luxuriant ranks of dewy vegetables which he, inthe intervals of his mental labors, should raise for his own table. Wesley had an inherent love of gardening which he had never been in aposition to gratify. Wesley was, in fancy, eating his own green peasand squashes and things when he came in sight of the back veranda. Itwas vacant, and his fancy sank in his mind like a plummet of lead. However, he approached, and the breeze of blessing greeted him like apresence. 

The parsonage was a gray old shadow of a building. Its walls werestained with past rains, the roof showed depressions, the verandasteps were unsteady, in fact one was gone. Wesley mounted and seatedhimself in one of the gnarled old rustic chairs which defied weather. From where he sat he could see a pink and white plumage of blossomsover an orchard; even the weedy garden showed lovely lights under thetriumphant June sun. Butterflies skimmed over it, always in pairs, now and then a dew-light like a jewel gleamed out, and gave adelectable thrill of mystery. Wesley wished the girl were there. Thenshe came. He saw a flutter of blue in the garden, then a face like arose overtopped the weeds. The sunlight glanced from a dark head, giving it high-lights of gold. 

The girl approached. When she saw the minister, she started, but notas if with surprise; rather as if she had made ready to start. Shestood at the foot of the steps, glowing with blushes, but still notconfused. She smiled with friendly confidence. She was very prettyand she wore a delicious gown, if one were not a woman, to observethe lack of fashion and the faded streaks, and she carried a littlesilk work-bag. 

Wesley rose. He also blushed, and looked more confused than the girl. "Good morning, Miss Dodge, " he said. His hands twitched a little. 

Fanny Dodge noted his confusion quite calmly. "Are you busy?" saidshe. 

"You are laughing at me, Miss Dodge. What on earth am I busy about?"

"Oh, " said the girl. "Of course I have eyes, and I can see that youare not writing; but I can't see your mind, or your thoughts. For allI know, they may be simply grinding out a sermon, and today isSaturday. I don't want to break up the meeting. " She laughed. 

"Come on up here, " said Wesley with camaraderie. "You know I am notdoing a blessed thing. I can finish my sermon in an hour afterdinner. Come on up. The breeze is heavenly. What have you got in thatbag?"

"I, " stated Fanny Dodge, mounting the steps, "have my work in my bag. I am embroidering a center-piece which is to be sold for at leasttwice its value--for I can't embroider worth a cent--at the fair. "She sat down beside him, and fished out of the bag a square of whitelinen and some colored silks. 

"Mrs. Black has just told me about that fair, " said Wesley. "Say, doyou know, I loathe the idea of it?"

"Why? A fair is no end of fun. We always have them. "

"Beggary. "

"Nonsense!"

"Yes, it is. I might just as well put on some black glasses, get alittle dog with a string, and a basket, and done with it. "

The girl giggled. "I know what you mean, " said she, "but your salaryhas to be paid, and folks have to be cajoled into handing out themoney. " Suddenly she looked troubled. "If there is any to hand, " sheadded. 

"I want you to tell me something and be quite frank about it. "

Fanny shot a glance at him. Her lashes were long, and she could lookthrough them with liquid fire of dark eyes. 

"Well?" said she. She threaded a needle with pink silk. 

"Is Brookville a very poor village?"

Fanny inserted her pink-threaded needle into the square of linen. 

"What, " she inquired with gravity, "is the past tense of bust?"

"I am in earnest. "

"So am I. But I know a minister is never supposed to know about sucha word as bust, even if he is bust two-thirds of is life. I'll tellyou. First Brookville was bust, now it's busted. "

Wesley stared at her. 

"Fact, " said Fanny, calmly, starting a rose on the linen in a careerof bloom. "First, years ago, when I was nothing but a kid, AndrewBolton--you have heard of Andrew Bolton?"

"I have heard him mentioned. I have never understood why everybodywas so down on him, though he is serving a term in prison, I believe. Nobody seems to like to explain. "

"The reason for that is plain enough, " stated Fanny. "Nobody likes toadmit he's been made a fool of. The man who takes the gold brickalways tries to hide it if he can't blame it off on his wife orsister or aunt. Andrew Bolton must have made perfectly awful fools ofeverybody in Brookville. They must have thought of him as a littletin god on wheels till he wrecked the bank and the silk factory, andran off with a lot of money belonging to his disciples, and gotcaught by the hand of the law, and landed in State's Prison. That'swhy they don't tell. Reckon my poor father, if he were alive, wouldn't tell. I didn't have anything to do with it, so I am telling. When Andrew Bolton embezzled the town went bust. Now the war inEurope, through the grinding of wheels which I can't comprehend, hasbankrupted the street railway and the chair factory, and the town isbusted. "

"But, as you say, if there is no money, why a fair?" Wesley had paleda little. 

"Oh, " replied the girl, "there is always the hoarding instinct to betaken into account. There are still a lot of stockings and featherbeds and teapots in Brookville. We still have faith that a fair canmine a little gold out of them for you. Of course we don't know, butthis is a Yankee village, and Yankees never do spend the last cent. Iadmit you may get somebody's funeral expenses out of the teapot. "

"Good Lord!" groaned Wesley. 

"That, " remarked the girl, "is almost swearing. I am surprised, andyou a minister. "

"But it is an awful state of things. "

"Well, " said Fanny, "Mrs. B. H. Slocum may come over from Grenoble. She used to live here, and has never lost her interest in Brookville. She is rich. She can buy a lot, and she is very good-natured aboutbeing cheated for the gospel's sake. Then, too, Brookville has neverlost its guardian angels. "

"What on earth do you mean?"

"What I say. The faith of the people here in guardian angels is awonderful thing. Sometimes it seems to me as if all Brookvilleconsidered itself under special guardianship, sort of ahen-and-chicken arrangement, you know. Anyhow, they do go ahead andundertake the craziest things, and come out somehow. "

"I think, " said Wesley Elliot soberly, "that I ought to resign. "

Then the girl paled, and bent closer over her work. "Resign!" shegasped. 

"Yes, resign. I admit I haven't enough money to live without asalary, though I would like to stay here forever. " Wesley spoke withfervor, his eyes on the girl. 

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. "

"I most certainly would, but I can't run in debt, and--I want tomarry some day--like other young men--and I must earn. "

The girl bent her head lower. "Why don't you resign and go away, andget--married, if you want to?"

"Fanny!"

He bent over her. His lips touched her hair. "You know, " hebegan--then came a voice like the legendary sword which divideslovers for their best temporal and spiritual good. 

"Dinner is ready and the peas are getting cold, " said Mrs. SolomonBlack. 

Then it happened that Wesley Elliot, although a man and a clergyman, followed like a little boy the large woman with the water-wavesthrough the weedage of the pastoral garden, and the girl sat weepingawhile from mixed emotions of anger and grief. Then she took a littlepuff from her bag, powdered her nose, straightened her hair and, also, went home, bag in hand, to her own noon dinner. 

Chapter II

A church fair is one of the purely feminine functions which will bethe last to disappear when the balance between the sexes is moreevenly adjusted. It is almost a pity to assume that it will finally, in the nature of things, disappear, for it is charming; it isinnocent with the innocence of very good, simple women; it is at thesame time subtle with that inimitable subtlety which only such womencan achieve. It is petty finance on such a moral height that even thesufferers by its code must look up to it. Before even woman, showinganything except a timid face of discovery at the sights of New Yorkunder male escort, invaded Wall Street, the church fair was in fulltide, and the managers thereof might have put financiers to shame bythe cunning, if not magnitude, of their operations. Good Christianwomen, mothers of families, would sell a tidy of no use except towear to a frayed edge the masculine nerves, and hand-painted platesof such bad art that it verged on immorality, for prices so above allreason, that a broker would have been taken aback. And it was all forworthy objects, these pretty functions graced by girls and matrons intheir best attire, with the products of their little hands offered, or even forced, upon the outsider who was held up for the ticket. They gambled shamelessly to buy a new carpet for the church. Therewas plain and brazen raffling for dreadful lamps and patent rockersand dolls which did not look fit to be owned by nice littlegirl-mothers, and all for the church organ, the minister's salary andsuch like. Of this description was the church fair held in Brookvilleto raise money to pay the Reverend Wesley Elliot. He came early, andhaunted the place like a morbid spirit. He was both angry and shamedthat such means must be employed to pay his just dues, but since ithad to be he could not absent himself. 

There was no parlor in the church, and not long after the infamousexit of Andrew Bolton the town hall had been destroyed by fire. Therefore all such functions were held in a place which otherwise wasa source of sad humiliation to its owner: Mrs. Amos Whittle, thedeacon's wife's unfurnished best parlor. It was a very large room, and poor Mrs. Whittle had always dreamed of a fine tapestry carpet, furniture upholstered with plush, a piano, and lace curtains. 

Her dreams had never been realized. The old tragedy of the littlevillage had cropped dreams, like a species of celestial foliage, close to their roots. Poor Mrs. Whittle, although she did not realizeit, missed her dreams more than she would have missed the furnitureof that best parlor, had she ever possessed and lost it. She had cometo think of it as a room in one of the "many mansions, " although shewould have been horrified had she known that she did so. She was onewho kept her religion and her daily life chemically differentiated. She endeavored to maintain her soul on a high level of orthodoxy, while her large, flat feet trod her round of household tasks. It wasonly when her best parlor, great empty room, was in demand for somesocial function like the church fair, that she felt her old dreamsreturn and stimulate her as with some wine of youth. 

The room was very prettily decorated with blossoming boughs, andJapanese lanterns, and set about with long tables covered with white, which contained the articles for sale. In the center of the room wasthe flower-booth, and that was lovely. It was a circle of green, withoval openings to frame young girl-faces, and on the circular shelfwere heaped flowers in brilliant masses. At seven o'clock the fairwas in full swing, as far as the wares and saleswomen were concerned. At the flower-booth were four pretty girls: Fanny Dodge, Ellen Dix, Joyce Fulsom and Ethel Mixter. Each stood looking out of her frame ofgreen, and beamed with happiness in her own youth and beauty. Theydid not, could not share the anxiety of the older women. The moreanxious gathered about the cake table. Four pathetically bedizenedmiddle-aged creatures, three too stout, one too thin, put their headstogether in conference. One woman was Mrs. Maria Dodge, Fanny'smother, one was Mrs. Amos Dix, one was Mrs. Deacon Whittle, and onewas unmarried. 

She was the stoutest of the four, tightly laced in an ancient silk, with frizzed hair standing erect from bulging temples. She was LoisDaggett, and a tragedy. She loved the young minister, Wesley Elliot, with all her heart and soul and strength. She had fastened, toattract his admiration, a little bunch of rose geranium leaves andheliotrope in her tightly frizzed hair. That little posy had, allunrecognized, a touching pathos. It was as the aigrette, the splendidcurves of waving plumage which birds adopt in the desire for love. Lois had never had a lover. She had never been pretty, or attractive, but always in her heart had been the hunger for love. The youngminister seemed the ideal of all the dreams of her life. He was as agod to her. She trembled under his occasional glances, his casualaddress caused vibrations in every nerve. She cherished no illusions. She knew he was not for her, but she loved and worshipped, and shetucked on an absurd little bow of ribbon, and she frizzed tightly herthin hair, and she wore little posies, following out the primitiveinstinct of her sex, even while her reason lagged behind. If onceWesley should look at that pitiful little floral ornament, shouldthink it pretty, it would have meant as much to that starved virginsoul as a kiss--to do her justice, as a spiritual kiss. There was inreality only pathos and tragedy in her adoration. It was not in theleast earthy, or ridiculous, but it needed a saint to understandthat. Even while she conferred with her friends, she never lost sightof the young man, always hoped for that one fleeting glance ofapprobation. 

When her sister-in-law, Mrs. Daggett, appeared, she restrained herwandering eyes. All four women conferred anxiously. They, with Mrs. Solomon Black, had engineered the fair. Mrs. Black had not yetappeared and they all wondered why. Abby Daggett, who had theexpression of a saint--a fleshy saint, in old purple muslin--gazedabout her with admiration. 

"Don't it look perfectly lovely!" she exclaimed. 

Mrs. Whittle fairly snapped at her, like an angry old dog. "Lovely!"said she with a fine edge of sarcasm in her tone, "perfectly lovely!Yes it does. But I think we are a set of fools, the whole of us. Herewe've got a fair all ready, and worked our fingers to the bone (Idon't know but I'll have a felon on account of that drawn-in rugthere) and we've used up all our butter and eggs, and I don't see, for one, who is going to buy anything. I ain't got any money t'spend. I don't believe Mrs. Slocum will come over from Grenoble, andif she does, she can't buy everything. "

"Well, what made us get up the fair?" asked Mrs. Dodge. 

"I suppose we all thought somebody might have some money, " venturedAbby Daggett. 

"I'd like to know who? Not one of us four has, and I don't believeMrs. Solomon Black has, unless she turns in her egg-money, and if shedoes I don't see how she is going to feed the minister. Where isPhoebe Black?"

"She is awfully late, " said Lois. She looked at the door, and, sodoing, got a chance to observe the minister, who was standing besidethe flower-table talking to Ellen Dix. Fanny Dodge was busilyarranging some flowers, with her face averted. Ellen Dix was verypretty, with an odd prettiness for a New England girl. Her pale oliveskin was flawless and fine of texture. Her mouth was intensely red, and her eyes very dark and heavily shaded by long lashes. She wore atthe throat of her white dress a beautiful coral brooch. It had beenone of her mother's girlhood treasures. The Dix family had beenreally almost opulent once, before the Andrew Bolton cataclysm hadinvolved the village, and there were still left in the family littlereminiscences of former splendor. Mrs. Dix wore a superb old lacescarf over her ancient black silk, and a diamond sparkled at herthroat. The other women considered the lace much too old and yellowto be worn, but Mrs. Dix was proud both of the lace and her ownsuperior sense of values. If the lace had been admired she would nothave cared so much for it. 

Suddenly a little woman came hurrying up, her face sharp with news. "What do you think?" she said to the others. "What do you think?"

They stared at her. "What do you mean, Mrs. Fulsom?" asked Mrs. Whittle acidly. 

The little woman tossed her head importantly. "Oh, nothing much, "said she, "only I thought the rest of you might not know. Mrs. Solomon Black has got another boarder. That's what's making her late. She had to get something for her to eat. "

"Another boarder!" said Mrs. Whittle. 

"Yes, " said the little woman, "a young lady, and Mrs. Solomon Blackis on her way here now. "

"With _her_?" gasped the others. 

"Yes, she's coming, and she looks to me as if she might have money. "

"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Whittle. 

"How do I know? Mrs. Mixter's Tommy told my Sam, and he told me, andI saw Mrs. Black and the boarder coming out of her yard, when I wentout of mine, and I hurried so's to get here first. Hush! Here theycome now. "

While the women were conferring many people had entered the room, although none had purchased the wares. Now there was stark silenceand a concentrated fire of attention as Mrs. Black entered with astrange young woman. Mrs. Black looked doubtfully important. She, asa matter of fact, was far from sure of her wisdom in the course shewas taking. She was even a little pale, and her lips moved nervouslyas she introduced the girl to one and another. "Miss Orr, " she said;sometimes "Miss Lydia Orr. "

As for the girl, she looked timid, yet determined. She was pretty, perhaps a beauty, had she made the most of her personal advantagesinstead of apparently ignoring them. Her beautiful fair hair, whichhad red-gold lights, should have shaded her forehead, which was toohigh. Instead it was drawn smoothly back, and fastened in a mat ofcompact flat braids at the back of her head. She was dressed verysimply, in black, and her costume was not of the latest mode. 

"I don't see anything about her to have made Mrs. Fulsom think shewas rich, " Mrs. Whittle whispered to Mrs. Daggett, who made anunexpectedly shrewd retort: "I can see. She don't look as if shecared what anybody thought of her clothes; as if she had so muchshe's never minded. "

Mrs. Whittle failed to understand. She grunted non-assent. "I don'tsee, " said she. "Her sleeves are way out of date. "

For awhile there was a loud buzz of conversation all over the room. Then it ceased, for things were happening, amazing things. Thestrange young lady was buying and she was paying cash down. Some ofthe women examined the bank notes suspiciously and handed them totheir husbands to verify. The girl saw, and flushed, but shecontinued. She went from table to table, and she bought everything, from quilts and hideous drawn-in rugs to frosted cakes. She bought inthe midst of that ominous hush of suspicion. Once she even heard awoman hiss to another, "She's crazy. She got out of an insaneasylum. "

However nobody of all the stunned throng refused to sell. Her firstfailure came in the case of a young man. He was Jim Dodge, Fanny'sbrother. Jim Dodge was a sort of Ishmael in the village estimation, and yet he was liked. He was a handsome young fellow with a wildfreedom of carriage. He had worked in the chair factory to supporthis mother and sister, before it closed. He haunted the woods, andmade a little by selling skins. He had brought as his contribution tothe fair a beautiful fox skin, and when the young woman essayed tobuy that he strode forward. "That is not for sale, " said he. "I begyou to accept that as a gift, Miss Orr. "

The young fellow blushed a little before the girl's blue eyes, although he held himself proudly. "I won't have this sold to a younglady who is buying as much as you are, " he continued. 

The girl hesitated. Then she took the skin. "Thank you, it isbeautiful, " she said. 

Jim's mother sidled close to him. "You did just right, Jim, " shewhispered. "I don't know who she is, but I feel ashamed of my life. She can't really want all that truck. She's buying to help. I feel asif we were a parcel of beggars. "

"Well, she won't buy that fox skin to help!" Jim whispered backfiercely. 

The whole did not take very long. Finally the girl talked in a lowvoice to Mrs. Black who then became her spokeswoman. Mrs. Black nowlooked confident, even triumphant. "Miss Orr says of course she can'tpossibly use all the cake and pies and jelly, " she said, "and shewants you to take away all you care for. And she wants to know ifMrs. Whittle will let the other things stay here till she's got aplace to put them in. I tell her there's no room in my house. "

"I s'pose so, " said Mrs. Whittle in a thick voice. She and manyothers looked fairly pale and shocked. 

Mrs. Solomon Black, the girl and the minister went out. 

The hush continued for a few seconds. Then Mrs. Whittle spoke. "There's something wrong about that girl, " said she. Other womenechoed her. The room seemed full of feminine snarls. 

Jim Dodge turned on them, and his voice rang out. "You are a lot ofcats, " said he. "Come on home, mother and Fanny, I am mortal shamedfor the whole of it. That girl's buying to help, when she can't wantthe things, and all you women turning on her for it!"

After the Dodges had gone there was another hush. Then it was brokenby a man's voice, an old man's voice with a cackle of derision andshrewd amusement in it. "By gosh!" said this voice, resoundingthrough the whole room, "that strange young woman has bought thewhole church fair!"

"There's something wrong, " said Mrs. Whittle again. 

"Ain't you got the money?" queried the man's voice. 

"Yes, but--"

"Then for God's sake hang onto it!"

Chapter III

After Jim Dodge had taken his mother and sister home, he stole off byhimself for a solitary walk. The night was wonderful, and the youngman, who was in a whirl of undefined emotion, unconsciously felt theneed of a lesson of eternal peace. The advent of the strange girl, and her unprecedented conduct had caused in him a sort of masculinevertigo over the whole situation. Why in the name of common sense wasthat girl in Brookville, and why should she have done such a thing?He admired her; he was angry with her; he was puzzled by her. 

He did not like the minister. He did not wonder that Elliot shouldwish for emolument enough to pay his way, but he had a littlecontempt for him, for his assumption of such superior wisdom that hecould teach his fellow men spiritual knowledge and claim from themfinancial reward. Aside from keeping those he loved in comfort, Jimhad no wish for money. He had all the beauty of nature for thetaking. He listened, as he strolled along, to the mysterious highnotes of insects and night-birds; he saw the lovely shadows of thetrees, and he honestly wondered within himself why Brookville peopleconsidered themselves so wronged by an occurrence of years ago, forwhich the perpetrator had paid so dearly. At the same time heexperienced a sense of angry humiliation at the poverty of the placewhich had caused such an occurrence as that church fair. 

When he reached Mrs. Solomon Black's house, he stared up at itsglossy whiteness, reflecting the moonlight like something infinitelymore precious than paint, and he seemed to perceive again a delicate, elusive fragrance which he had noticed about the girl's raiment whenshe thanked him for his fox skin. 

"She smelled like a new kind of flower, " Jim told himself as he swungdown the road. The expression was not elegant, but it was sincere. Hethought of the girl as he might have thought of an entirely newspecies of blossom, with a strictly individual fragrance which he hadencountered in an expedition afield. 

After he had left the Black house, there was only a half mile beforehe reached the old Andrew Bolton place. The house had been verypretentious in an ugly architectural period. There were truncatedtowers, a mansard roof, hideous dormers, and a reckless outbreak ofperfectly useless bay windows. The house, which was large, stoodaloof from the road, with a small plantation of evergreen treesbefore it. It had not been painted for years, and loomed up like thevaguest shadow of a dwelling even in the brilliant moonlight. Suddenly Jim caught sight of a tiny swinging gleam of light. Itbobbed along at the height of a man's knee. It was a lantern, whichseemed rather an odd article to be used on such a night. Then Jimcame face to face with the man who carried the lantern, and saw whohe was--Deacon Amos Whittle. To Jim's mind, the man resembled a fox, skulking along the road, although Deacon Amos Whittle was notpredatory. He was a small, thin, wiry man with a queer swirl of whitewhisker, and hopping gait. 

He seemed somewhat blinded by his lantern, for he ran full tilt intoJim, who stood the shock with such firmness that the older manstaggered back, and danced uncertainly to recover his balance. DeaconAmos Whittle stuttered uncertain remarks, as was his wont whenstartled. "It is only Jim Dodge, " said Jim. "Guess your lantern sortof blinded you, Deacon. "

Then the lantern almost blinded Jim, for Whittle swung it higheruntil it came on a level with Jim's eyes. Over it peered Whittle'slittle keen ones, spectacled under a gray shag of eyebrows. "Oh it isyou!" said the man with a somewhat contemptuous accent. He held Jimin slight esteem. 

Jim laughed lightly. Unless he cared for people, their opinion of himalways seemed a perfectly negligible matter, and he did not care atall for Amos Whittle. 

Suddenly, to his amazement, Amos took hold of his coat. "Look a'here, Jim, " said he. 

"Well?"

"Do you know anything about that strange woman that's boardin' toMis' Solomon Black's?"

"How in creation should I know anything about her?"

"Hev you seen her?"

"I saw her at the fair tonight. "

"The fair at my house?"

"Don't know of any other fair. "

"Well, what do you think of her?"

"Don't think of her. "

Jim tried to pass, but the old man danced before him with hisswinging lantern. 

"I must be going along, " said Jim. 

"Wait a minute. Do you know she bought the whole fair?"

"Yes, I do. You are blinding me with that lantern, Deacon Whittle. "

"And she paid good money down. I seen it. "

"All right. I've got to get past you. "

"Wait a minute. Do you s'pose that young woman is all right?"

"I don't see why not. Nothing against the law of the land for her tobuy out a church fair, that I know of. "

"Don't you think it looks sort of suspicious?"

"It's none of my business. I confess I don't see why it's suspicious, unless somebody wants to make her out a fool. I don't understand whatany sane person wants with all that truck; but I don't pretend tounderstand women. "

Whittle shook his head slowly. "I dunno, " he said. 

"Well, I don't know who does, or cares either. They've got the money. I suppose that was what they were after. " Jim again tried to pass. 

"Wait just a minute. Say, Jim, I'm going to tell you something. Don'tyou speak of it till it gets out. "

"Fire away. I'm in a hurry. "

"She wants to buy this old Bolton place here. "

Jim whistled. 

"You know the assignees of the Bolton estate had to take the house, and it's been running down all these years, and a lot of money hasgot to be spent on it or it'll tumble down. Now, this young woman hasoffered to pay a good round sum for it, and take it just as it is. S'pose it's all right?"

"How in creation should I know? If I held it, and wanted to sell it, I'd know darn well whether it was all right or not. I wouldn't goaround asking other folks. "

"But you see it don't seem natural. Folks don't do things like that. She's offering to pay more than the place is worth. She'll have tospend thousands on it to make it fit to live in. She says she'll paycash, too. "

"Well, I suppose you'll know cash when you see it. I've got to go. "

"But cash! Lord A'mighty! We dunno what to do. "

"I suppose you know whether you want to sell or not. "

"Want to sell! If we didn't want to sell this old shebang we'd bedumb idiots. "

"Then, why in the name of common sense don't you sell?"

"Because, somehow it don't look natural to me. "

"Well, I must confess that to throw away much money on an old shelllike that doesn't look any too natural to me. "

"Come now, Jim, that was a real nice house when it was built. "

Jim laughed sarcastically. "Running up your wares now, are you?"

"That house cost Andrew Bolton a pile of money. And now, if it'sfixed up, it'll be the best house in Brookville. "

"That isn't saying much. See here, you've got to let me pass. If youwant to sell--I should think you would--I don't see what you areworrying about. I don't suppose you are worrying for fear you maycheat the girl. "

"We ain't goin' to cheat the girl, but--I dunno. " Whittle stoodaside, shaking his head, and Jim passed on. He loitered along theshaggy hedge which bordered the old Bolton estate, and a littlefarther, then turned back. He had reached the house again when hestarted. In front of the gate stood a shadowy figure, a woman, by theoutlines of the dress. Jim continued hesitatingly. He feared tostartle her. But he did not. When he came abreast of her, she turnedand looked full in his face, and he recognized Miss Orr. He took offhis hat, but was so astonished he could scarcely utter a greeting. The girl was so shy that she stammered a little, but she laughed too, like a child caught in some mischief. 

"Oh, I am so glad it is you!" she said. 

"Well, taking all things into consideration, so am I, " said Jim. 

"You mean--?"

"I mean it is pretty late for you to be out alone, and I'm as good asa Sunday School picnic, with the superintendent and the ministerthrown in, for you to meet. I'll see you home. "

"Goodness! There's nothing to be afraid of in this little place, "said the girl. "I have lived in New York. "

"Where there are policemen. "

"Oh, yes, but one never counts on that. One never counts on anythingin New York. You can't, you know. Its mathematics are as high as itsbuildings, too high to take chances. But here--why, I saw pretty nearthe whole village at that funny fair, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but Brookville is not a walled town. People not sodesirable as those you saw at the fair have free entrance and egress. It is pretty late. "

"I am not in the least afraid, " said the girl. 

"You have no reason to be, now. "

"You mean because you have happened along. Well, I am glad you did. Ibegun to think it was rather late myself for me to be prowlingaround, but you will simply have to leave me before I get to myboarding house. That Mrs. Black is as kind as can be, but she doesn'tknow what to make of me, and on the whole I think I would rather takemy chances stealing in alone than to have her spy you. "

"If you wanted to come out, why didn't you ask the minister to comewith you?" Jim asked bluntly. 

"The minister! Oh, I don't like ministers when they are young. Theyare much better when all the doctrines they have learned at theirtheological seminaries have settled in their minds, and have stoppedbubbling. However, this minister here seems rather nice, very young, but he doesn't give the impression of taking himself so seriouslythat he is a nervous wreck on account of his convictions. I wouldn'thave asked him for the world. In the first place, Mrs. Black wouldhave thought it very queer, and in the second place he was so hoppingmad about that fair, and having me buy it, that he wouldn't have beenagreeable. I don't blame him. I would feel just so in his place. Itmust be frightful to be a poor minister. "

"None too pleasant, anyway. "

"You are right, it certainly is not. I have been poor myself, and Iknow. I went to my room, and looked out of the window, and it was soperfectly beautiful outdoors, and I did want to see how this placelooked by moonlight, so I just went down the back stairs and camealone. I hope nobody will break in while I am gone. I left the doorunlocked. "

"No burglars live in Brookville, " said Jim. "Mighty good reasons fornone to come in, too. "

"What reasons?"

"Not a blessed thing to burgle. Never has been for years. "

There was a silence. The girl spoke in a hushed voice. "I--understand, " said she, "that the people here hold the man whoused to live in this house responsible for that. "

"Why, yes, I suppose he was. Brookville never would have been aTuxedo under any circumstances, but I reckon it would have fared alittle better if Mr. Bolton hadn't failed to see the differencebetween mine and thine. I was nothing but a kid, but I have heard agood deal about it. Some of the older people are pretty bitter, andsome of the younger ones have it in their veins. I suppose the poorman did start us down hill. "

"You say 'poor man'; why?" asked the girl and her voice trembled. 

"Lord, yes. I'm like a hound sneaking round back doors for bones, onaccount of Mr. Bolton, myself. My father lost more than 'mostanybody, but I wouldn't change places with the man. Say, do you knowhe has been in State's Prison for years?"

"Yes. "

"Of course any man who does wrong is a poor man, even if he doesn'tget caught. I'm mighty glad I wasn't born bitter as some of thepeople here were. My sister Fanny isn't either. She doesn't havemuch, poor girl, but I've never heard her say one word, and mothernever blames it on Mr. Bolton, either. Mother says he is getting hispunishment, and it isn't for any of us to add to it. "

"Your sister was that pretty girl at the flower table?"

"Yes--I suppose you would call her pretty. I don't really know. Afellow never does know, when the girl is his sister. She may look thebest of the bunch to him, but he's never sure. "

"She is lovely, " said Lydia Orr. She pointed to the shadowy house. "That must have been a nice place once. "

"Best in the village; show place. Say, what in the name of commonsense do you want to buy it for?"

"Who told you?"

"Oh, I met old Whittle just before I met you. He told me. The placemust be terribly run down. It will cost a mint of money to get it inshape. "

"I have considerable money, " stated the girl quite simply. 

"Well, it's none of my business, but you will have to sinkconsiderable in that place, and perhaps when you are through it won'tbe satisfactory. "

"I have taken a notion to it, " said the girl. She spoke very shyly. Her curiously timid, almost apologetic manner returned suddenly. "Isuppose it does look strange, " she added. 

"Nobody's business how it looks, " said Jim, "but I think you ought toknow the truth about it, and I think I am more likely to give youinformation than Whittle. Of course he has an ax to grind. Perhaps ifI had an ax to grind, you couldn't trust me. "

"Yes, I could, " returned the girl with conviction. "I knew that theminute I looked at you. I always know the people I can trust. I knowI could not trust Deacon Whittle. I made allowances, the way one doesfor a clock that runs too fast or too slow. I think one always has tobe doing addition or subtraction with people, to understand them. "

"Well, you had better try a little subtraction with me. "

"I don't have to. I didn't mean with everybody. Of course there areexceptions. That was a beautiful skin you gave me. I didn't halfthank you. "

"Nonsense. I was glad to give it. "

"Do you hunt much?"

"About all I am good for except to run our little farm and do oddjobs. I used to work in the chair factory. "

"I shouldn't think you would have liked that. "

"Didn't; had to do what I could. "

"What would you like to do?"

"Oh, I don't know. I never had any choice, so I never gave it anythought. Something that would keep me out of doors, I reckon. "

"Do you know much about plants and trees?"

"I don't know whether I know much; I love them, that's all. "

"You could do some landscape gardening for a place like this, Ishould think. "

Jim stared at her, and drew himself up haughtily. "It really is late, Miss Orr, " he said. "I think, if you will allow me, I will take youhome. "

"What are you angry about?"

"I am not angry. "

"Yes, you are. You are angry because I said that about landscapegardening. "

"I am not a beggar or a man who undertakes a job he is not competentto perform, if I am poor. "

"Will you undertake setting those grounds to rights, if I buy theplace?"

"Why don't you hire a regular landscape man if you have so muchmoney?" asked Jim rudely. 

"I would rather have you. I want somebody I can work with. I have myown ideas. I want to hire you to work with me. Will you?"

"Time enough to settle that when you've bought the place. You must gohome now. Here, take my arm. This sidewalk is an apology for one. "

Lydia took the young man's arm obediently, and they began walking. 

"What on earth are you going to do with all that truck you bought?"asked Jim. 

Lydia laughed. "To tell you the truth, I haven't the slightest idea, "said she. "Pretty awful, most of it, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't give it house room. "

"I won't either. I bought it, but I won't have it. "

"You must take us for a pretty set of paupers, to throw away moneylike that. "

"Now, don't you get mad again. I did want to buy it. I never wantedto buy things so much in my life. "

"I never saw such a queer girl. "

"You will know I am not queer some time, and I would tell you whynow, but--"

"Don't you tell me a thing you don't want to. "

"I think I had better wait just a little. But I don't know about allthose things. "

"Say, why don't you send them to missionaries out West?"

"Oh, could I?"

"Of course you can. What's to hinder?"

"When I buy that place will you help me?"

"Of course I will. Now you are talking! I'm glad to do anything likethat. I think I'd be nutty if I had to live in the same house as thatfair. "

The girl burst into a lovely peal of laughter. "Exactly what Ithought all the time, " said she. "I wanted to buy them; you don'tknow how much; but it was like buying rabbits, and white elephants, and--oh, I don't know! a perfect menagerie of things I couldn't bearto live with, and I didn't see how I could give them away, and Icouldn't think of a place to throw them away. " She laughed again. 

Jim stopped suddenly. "Say. "

"What?"

"Why, it will be an awful piece of work to pack off all thosecontraptions, and it strikes me it is pretty hard on themissionaries. There's a gravel pit down back of the Bolton place, andif you buy it--"

"What?"

"Well, bury the fair there. "

Lydia stopped short, and laughed till she cried. "You don't supposethey would ever find out?"

"Trust me. You just have the whole lot moved into the house, andwe'll fix it up. "

"Oh, I can't tell you how thankful I am to you, " said Lydiafervently. "I felt like a nightmare with all those things. Some ofthem can be used of course, but some--oh, those picture throws, andthose postage stamp plates!"

"They are funny, but sort of pitiful, too, " said Jim. "Women are sortof pitiful, lots of them. I'm glad I am a man. "

"I should think you would be, " said the girl. She looked up in hisface with an expression which he did not see. He was regarding womenin the abstract; she was suddenly regarding men in the individual. 

Chapter IV

Elliot slept later than usual the morning after the fair. Generallyhe slept the beautiful, undisturbed sleep of the young and healthy;that night, for some reason, he did not. Possibly the strange breakwhich the buying of the fair had made in the course of his everydaylife caused one also between his conscious and unconscious state, which his brain refused to bridge readily. Wesley had not beenbrought face to face, many times in his life, with the unprecedented. He had been brought before it, although in a limited fashion, at thechurch fair. The unprecedented is more or less shattering, partakingof the nature of a spiritual bomb. Lydia Orr's mad purchase of thatcollection of things called a fair disturbed his sense of values. Heasked himself over and over who was this girl? More earnestly heasked himself what her motives could be. 

But the question which most agitated him was his relations with thegirl, Fanny Dodge. He realized that recently he had approached theverge of an emotional crisis. If Mrs. Black whom he had at the timefairly cursed in his heart, in spite of his profession, had notappeared with her notice of dinner, he would be in a most unpleasantpredicament. Only the girl's innate good sense could have served as arefuge, and he reflected with the utmost tenderness that he mightconfidently rely upon that. He was almost sure that the poor girlloved him. He was quite sure that he loved her. But he was also sure, with a strong sense of pride in her, that she would have refused him, not on mercenary grounds, for Fanny he knew would have shared a crustand hovel with the man she loved; but Fanny would love the man toowell to consent to the crust and the hovel, on his own account. Shewould not have said in so many words, "What! marry you, a minister sopoor that a begging fair has to be held to pay his salary?" Shewould have not refused him her love and sympathy, but she would havelet him down so gently from the high prospect of matrimony that hewould have suffered no jolt. 

Elliot was a good fellow. It was on the girl's account that hesuffered. He suffered, as a matter of course. He wanted Fanny badly, but he realized himself something of a cad. He discounted his ownsuffering; perhaps, as he told himself with sudden suspicion ofself-conceit, he overestimated hers. Still, he was sure that the girlwould suffer more than he wished. He blamed himself immeasurably. Hetried to construct air castles which would not fall, even before theimpact of his own thoughts, in which he could marry this girl andlive with her happily ever after, but the man had too much commonsense. He did not for a moment now consider the possibility ofstepping, without influence, into a fat pastorate. He was sure thathe could count confidently upon nothing better than this. 

The next morning he looked about his room wearily, and a plan whichhe had often considered grew upon him. He got the keys of theunoccupied parsonage next door, from Mrs. Black, and went over thehouse after breakfast. It was rather a spacious house, old, but intolerable preservation. There was a southeast room of one story inheight, obviously an architectural afterthought, which immediatelyappealed to him. It was practically empty except for charmingpossibilities, but it contained a few essentials, and probably theformer incumbent had used it as a study. There was a wood stove, astanding desk fixed to the wall, some shelves, an old table, and acouple of armchairs. Wesley at once resolved to carry out his plan. He would move his small store of books from his bedroom at Mrs. Black's, arrange them on the shelves, and set up his study there. Hewas reasonably sure of obtaining wood enough for a fire to heat theroom when the weather was cold. 

He returned and told Mrs. Black, who agreed with him that the planwas a good one. "A minister ought to have his study, " said she, "andof course the parsonage is at your disposal. The parish can't rentit. That room used to be the study, and you will have offers of allthe wood you want to heat it. There's plenty of cut wood that folksare glad to donate. They've always sent loads of wood to heat theminister's study. Maybe they thought they'd stand less chance of hellfire if they heated up the gospel in this life. "

"Then I'll move my books and writing materials right over there, "said Elliot with a most boyish glee. 

Mrs. Black nodded approvingly. "So I would. " She hesitated a moment, then she spoke again. "I was just a little bit doubtful about takingthat young woman in yesterday, " said she. 

Elliot regarded her curiously. "Then you never had met her before?"

"No, she just landed here with her trunk. The garage man brought her, and she said he told her I took boarders, and she asked me to takeher. I don't know but I was kind of weak to give in, but the poorlittle thing looked sort of nice, and her manners were pretty, so Itook her. I thought I would ask you how you felt about it thismorning, but there ain't any reason to, perhaps, for she ain't goingto stay here very long, anyway. She says she's going to buy the oldBolton place and have it fixed up and settle down there as soon asshe can. She told me after you had gone out. She's gone now to lookat it. Mr. Whittle was going to meet her there. Queer, ain't it?"

"It does look extraordinary, rather, " agreed Elliot, "but Miss Orrmay be older than she looks. "

"Oh, she ain't old, but she's of age. She told me that, and I guessshe's got plenty of money. "

"Well, " said Elliot, "that is rather a fine old place. She may beconnected with the Bolton family. "

"That's exactly what I think, and if she was she wouldn't mention it, of course. I think she's getting the house in some sort of a businessway. Andrew Bolton may have died in prison by this time, and she maybe an heir. I think she is going to be married and have the housefixed up to live in. "

"That sounds very probable. "

"Yes, it does; but what gets me is her buying that fair. I own I felta little scared, and wondered if she had all her buttons, but whenshe told me about the house I knew of course she could use the thingsfor furnishing, all except the cake and candy, and I suppose if she'sgot a lot of money she thought she'd like to buy to help. I feel gladshe's coming. She may be a real help in the church. Now don't colorup. Ministers have to take help. It's part of their discipline. "

Sometimes Mrs. Solomon Black said a wise and consoling thing. Elliot, moving his effects to the old parsonage, considered that she had doneso then. "She is right. I have no business to be proud in theprofession calling for the lowly-hearted of the whole world, " he toldhimself. 

After he had his books arranged he sat down in an armchair beside afront window, and felt rather happy and at home. He reproachedhimself for his content when he read the morning paper, andconsidered the horrors going on in Europe. Why should he, anable-bodied man, sit securely in a room and gaze out at a peacefulvillage street? he asked himself as he had scores of times before. Then the imperial individual, which obtrudes even when consciencecries out against it, occupied his mind. Pretty Fanny Dodge in herblue linen was passing. She never once glanced at the parsonage. Forgetting his own scruples and resolves, he thought unreasonablythat she might at least glance up, if she had the day before at allin her mind. Suddenly the unwelcome reflection that he might not beas desirable as he had thought himself came over him. 

He got up, put on his hat, and walked rapidly in the direction of theold Bolton house. Satisfying his curiosity might serve as apalliative to his sudden depression with regard to his love affair. It is very much more comfortable to consider oneself a cad, andacknowledge to oneself love for a girl, and be sure of herunfortunate love for you, than to consider oneself the dupe of thegirl. Fanny had a keen sense of humor. Suppose she had been makingfun of him. Suppose she had her own aspirations in other quarters. Hewalked on until he reached the old Bolton house. The door stood open, askew upon rusty hinges. Wesley Elliot entered and glanced about himwith growing curiosity. The room was obviously a kitchen, one sidebeing occupied by a huge brick chimney inclosing a built-in rangehalf devoured with rust; wall cupboards, a sink and a decrepit tableshowed gray and ugly in the greenish light of two tall windows, completely blocked on the outside with over-grown shrubs. Anindescribable odor of decaying plaster, chimney-soot and mildew hungin the heavy air. 

A door to the right, also half open, led the investigator further. Here the floor shook ominously under foot, suggesting rotten beamsand unsteady sills. The minister walked cautiously, noting in passinga portrait defaced with cobwebs over the marble mantelpiece and thegreat circular window opening upon an expanse of tangled grass andweeds, through which the sun streamed hot and yellow. Voices camefrom an adjoining room; he could hear Deacon Whittle's nasal tonesupraised in fervid assertion. 

"Yes, ma'am!" he was saying, "this house is a little out of repair, you can see that fer yourself; but it's well built; couldn't bebetter. A few hundred dollars expended here an' there'll make it asgood as new; in fact, I'll say better'n new! They don't put no suchmaterial in houses nowadays. Why, this woodwork--doors, windows, floors and all--is clear, white pine. You can't buy it today for noprice. Costs as much as m'hogany, come to figure it out. Yes, _ma'am!_ the woodwork alone in this house is worth the price of oneof them little new shacks a builder'll run up in a couple of months. And look at them mantelpieces, pure tombstone marble; and all carvedlike you see. Yes, ma'am! there's as many as seven of 'em in thehouse. Where'll you find anything like that, I'd like to know!"

"I--think the house might be made to look very pleasant, Mr. Whittle, " Lydia replied, in a hesitating voice. 

Wesley Elliot fancied he could detect a slight tremor in its evenflow. He pushed open the door and walked boldly in. 

"Good-morning, Miss Orr, " he exclaimed, advancing with outstretchedhand. "Good-morning, Deacon! . .. Well, well! what a melancholy oldruin this is, to be sure. I never chanced to see the interiorbefore. "

Deacon Whittle regarded his pastor sourly from under puckered brows. 

"Some s'prised to see _you_, dominie, " said he. "Thought you wasgenerally occupied at your desk of a Friday morning. "

The minister included Lydia Orr in the genial warmth of his smile ashe replied:

"I had a special call into the country this morning, and seeing yourconveyance hitched to the trees outside, Deacon, I thought I'd stepin. I'm not sure it's altogether safe for all of us to be standing inthe middle of this big room, though. Sills pretty well rottedout--eh, Deacon?"

"Sound as an oak, " snarled the Deacon. "As I was telling th' younglady, there ain't no better built house anywheres 'round than thisone. Andrew Bolton didn't spare other folks' money when he builtit--no, _sir!_ It's good for a hundred years yet, with triflingrepairs. "

"Who owns the house now?" asked Lydia unexpectedly. She had walkedover to one of the long windows opening on a rickety balcony andstood looking out. 

"Who owns it?" echoed Deacon Whittle. "Well, now, we can give you aclear title, ma'am, when it comes to that; sound an' clear. You don'thave to worry none about that. You see it was this way; dunno asanybody's mentioned it in your hearing since you come to Brookville;but we use to have a bank here in Brookville, about eighteen yearsago, and--"

"Yes, Ellen Dix told me, " interrupted Lydia Orr, without turning herhead. "Has nobody lived here since?"

Deacon Whittle cast an impatient glance at Wesley Elliot, who stoodwith his eyes fixed broodingly on the dusty floor. 

"Wal, " said he. "There'd have been plenty of folks glad enough tolive here; but the house wa'n't really suited to our kind o' folks. It wa'n't a farm--there being only twenty acres going with it. Andyou see the house is different to what folks in moderatecircumstances could handle. Nobody had the cash to buy it, an' ain'thad, all these years. It's a pity to see a fine old property likethis a-going down, all for the lack of a few hundreds. But if you wasto buy it, ma'am, I could put it in shape fer you, equal to the best, and at a figure-- Wall; I tell ye, it won't cost ye what some folks'dthink. "

"Didn't that man--the banker who stole--everybody's money, Imean--didn't he have any family?" asked Lydia, still without turningher head. "I suppose he--he died a long time ago?"

"I see the matter of th' title's worrying you, ma'am, " said DeaconWhittle briskly. "I like to see a female cautious in a business way:I do, indeed. And 'tain't often you see it, neither. Now, I'll tell_you_--"

"Wouldn't it be well to show Miss Orr some more desirable property, Deacon?" interposed Wesley Elliot. "It seems to me--"

"Oh, I shall buy the house, " said the girl at the window, quickly. 

She turned and faced the two men, her delicate head thrown back, aclear color staining her pale cheeks. 

"I shall buy it, " she repeated. "I--I like it very much. It is justwhat I wanted--in--in every way. "

Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment. 

"There was another party looking at the place a spell back, " he said, rubbing his dry old hands. "I dunno's I exac'ly give him an option onit; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up 'most any day. Course I'd have to give him the first chance, if it comes to a--"

"What is an option?" asked Lydia. 

"An option is a--now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain tothe female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is--"

The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, aslight, delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under theshadowy brim of her wide had looking unnaturally pale in the greenishlight from without. 

"An option, " he interposed hurriedly, "must be bought with money;should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid. Let me advise you--"

Deacon Whittle cleared his throat with an angry, rasping sound. 

"Me an' this young lady came here this morning for the purpose oftransacting a little business, mutually advantageous, " he snarled. "If it was anybody but the dominie, I should say he was butting inwithout cause. "

"Oh, don't, please!" begged the girl. "Mr. Elliot meant it kindly, I'm sure. I--I want an option, if you please. You'll let me have it, won't you? I want it--now. "

Deacon Whittle blinked and drew back a pace or two, as if hereagerness actually frightened him. 

"I--I guess I can accommodate ye, " he stuttered; "but--there'll besome preliminaries--I wa'n't exactly prepared-- There's the price ofthe property and the terms-- S'pose likely you'll want amortgage--eh?"

He rubbed his bristly chin dubiously. 

"I want to buy the house, " Lydia said. "I want to be sure--"

"Have you seen the rooms upstairs?" asked the minister, turning hisback upon his senior deacon. 

She shook her head. 

"Well, then, why not--"

Wesley Elliot took a step or two toward the winding stair, dimly seenthrough the gloom of the hall. 

"Hold on, dominie, them stairs ain't safe!" warned the Deacon. "They'll mebbe want a little shoring up, before-- Say, I wish--"

"I don't care to go up now, really, " protested the girl. "It--it'sthe location I like and--"

She glanced about the desolate place with a shiver. The air of thelong-closed rooms was chilly, despite the warmth of the June dayoutside. 

"I'll tell you what, " said the deacon briskly. "You come right alongdown to the village with me, Miss Orr. It's kind of close in here;the house is built so tight, there can't no air git in. I tell you, them walls--"

He smote the one nearest him with a jocular palm. There followed thehollow sound of dropping plaster from behind the lath. 

"Guess we'd better fix things up between us, so you won't be nowaysdisappointed in case that other party--" he added, with a craftyglance at the minister. "You see, he might turn up 'most any day. "

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the girl, walking hurriedly to the door. "I--Ishould like to go at once. "

She turned and held out her hand to the minister with a smile. 

"Thank you for coming, " she said. "I wanted you to see the house asit is now. "

He looked down into her upturned face with its almost childish appealof utter candor, frowning slightly. 

"Have you no one--that is, no near relative to advise you in thematter?" he asked. "The purchase of a large property, such as this, ought to be carefully considered, I should say. "

Deacon Whittle coughed in an exasperated manner. 

"I guess we'd better be gitting along, " said he, "if we want to catchJedge Fulsom in his office before he goes to dinner. "

Lydia turned obediently. 

"I'm coming, " she said. 

Then to Elliot: "No; there is no one to--to advise me. I am obligedto decide for myself. "

Wesley Elliot returned to Brookville and his unfinished sermon by along detour which led him over the shoulder of a hill overlooking thevalley. He did not choose to examine his motive for avoiding the roadalong which Fanny Dodge would presently return. But as the path, increasingly rough and stony as it climbed the steep ascent, led himat length to a point from whence he could look down upon a toyvillage, arranged in stiff rows about a toy church, with its tinypointing steeple piercing the vivid green of many trees, he sat downwith a sigh of relief and something very like gratitude. 

As far back as he could remember Wesley Elliot had cherished a firm, though somewhat undefined, belief in a quasi-omnipotent power to bereckoned as either hostile or friendly to the purposes of man, showing now a smiling, now a frowning face. In short, thatunquestioned, wholly uncontrollable influence outside of a man'slife, which appears to rule his destiny. In this rôle "Providence, "as he had been taught to call it, had heretofore smiled ratherevasively upon Wesley Elliot. He had been permitted to make sure hissacred calling; but he had not secured the earnestly coveted citypulpit. On the other hand, he had just been saved--or so he toldhimself, as the fragrant June breeze fanned his heated forehead--by adistinct intervention of "Providence" from making a fool of himself. His subsequent musings, interrupted at length by the shriekingwhistle of the noon train as it came to a standstill at the toyrailway station, might be termed important, since they were toinfluence the immediate future of a number of persons, thus affordinga fresh illustration of the mysterious workings of "Providence, "sometimes called "Divine. "

Chapter V

There existed in Brookville two separate and distinct forums for thediscussion of topics of public and private interest. These were thebarroom of the village tavern, known as the Brookville House, andHenry Daggett's General Store, located on the corner opposite the oldBolton Bank Building. Mr. Daggett, besides being Brookville's leadingmerchant, was also postmaster, and twice each day withdrew to theofficial privacy of the office for the transaction of United Statesbusiness. The post office was conveniently located in one corner ofMr. Daggett's store and presented to the inquiring eye a small glasswindow, which could be raised and lowered at will by the personbehind the partition, a few numbered boxes and a slit, marked"Letters. "

In the evening of the day on which Miss Lydia Orr had visited the oldBolton house in company with Deacon Whittle, both forums were in fullblast. The wagon-shed behind the Brookville House sheltered anunusual number of "rigs, " whose owners, after partaking of liquidrefreshment dispensed by the oily young man behind the bar, by commonconsent strolled out to the veranda where a row of battered woodenarmchairs invited to reposeful consideration of the surprising eventsof the past few days. 

The central chair supported the large presence of "Judge" Fulsom, whowas dispensing both information and tobacco juice. 

"The practice of the legal profession, " said the Judge, after a briefperiod devoted to the ruminative processes, "is full of surprises. "

Having spoken, Judge Fulsom folded his fat hands across the somewhatsoiled expanse of his white waistcoat and relapsed into a weightysilence. 

"They was sayin' over to the post office this evening that the youngwoman that cleaned up the church fair has bought the old Boltonplace. How about it, Jedge?"

Judge Fulsom grunted, as he leveled a displeased stare upon thespeaker, a young farmer with a bibulous eye and slight swagger ofdefiance. At the proper moment, with the right audience, the Judgewas willing to impart information with lavish generosity. But anyattempt to force his hand was looked upon as a distinct infringementof his privilege. 

"You want to keep your face shut, Lute, till th' Jedge gets ready totalk, " counseled a middle-aged man who sat tilted back in the nextchair. "Set down, son, and cool off. "

"Well, you see I got to hurry along, " objected the young farmerimpatiently, "and I wanted to know if there was anything in it. Ourfolks had money in the old bank, an' we'd give up getting anythingmore out the smash years ago. But if the Bolton place has actuallybeen sold--"

He finished with a prolonged whistle. 

The greatness in the middle chair emitted a grunt. 

"Humph!" he muttered, and again, "Hr-m-m-ph!"

"It would be surprising, " conceded the middle-aged man, "after allthese years. "

"Considerable many of th' creditors has died since, " piped up a leanyouth who was smoking a very large cigar. "I s'pose th' children ofall such would come in for their share--eh, Judge?"

Judge Fulsom frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

"The proceedings has not yet reached the point you mention, Henry, "he said. "You're going a little too fast. "

Nobody spoke, but the growing excitement took the form of a shufflingof feet. The Judge deliberately lighted his pipe, a token of mentalrelaxation. Then from out the haze of blue smoke, like the voice ofan oracle from the seclusion of a shrine, issued the familiarrecitative tone for which everybody had been waiting. 

"Well, boys, I'll tell you how 'twas: Along about ten minutes oftwelve I had my hat on my head, and was just drawing on my linenduster with the idea of going home to dinner, when I happened to lookout of my office window, and there was Deacon Whittle--and the girl, just coming up th' steps. In five minutes more I'd have been gone, most likely for the day. "

"Gosh!" breathed the excitable young farmer. 

The middle-aged man sternly motioned him to keep silence. 

"I s'pose most of you boys saw her at the fair last night, " proceededthe Judge, ignoring the interruption. "She's a nice appearing youngfemale; but nobody'd think to look at her--"

He paused to ram down the tobacco in the glowing bowl of his pipe. 

"Well, as I was saying, she'd been over to the Bolton house with theDeacon. Guess we'll have to set the Deacon down for a right smartreal-estate boomer. We didn't none of us give him credit for it. He'dgot the girl all worked up to th' point of bein' afraid anotherparty'd be right along to buy the place. She wanted an option on it. "

"Shucks!" again interrupted the young farmer disgustedly. "Themoptions ain't no good. I had one once on five acres of timber, and--"

"Shut up, Lute!" came in low chorus from the spell-bound audience. 

"Wanted an option, " repeated Judge Fulsom loudly, "just till I couldfix up the paper. 'And, if you please, ' said she, 'I'd like t' payfive thousand dollars for the option, then I'd feel more sure. ' Andbefore I had a chance to open my mouth, she whips out a check-book. "

"Gr-reat jumping Judas!" cried the irrepressible Lute, whose othername was Parsons. "Five thousand dollars! Why, the old place ain'tworth no five thousand dollars!"

Judge Fulsom removed his pipe from his mouth, knocked out thehalf-burned tobacco, blew through the stem, then proceeded to filland light it again. From the resultant haze issued his voice oncemore, bland, authoritative, reminiscent. 

"Well, now, son, that depends on how you look at it. Time was whenAndrew Bolton wouldn't have parted with the place for three timesthat amount. It was rated, I remember, at eighteen thousand, including live stock, conveyances an' furniture, when it was deededover to the assignees. We sold out the furniture and stock at auctionfor about half what they were worth. But there weren't any biddersworth mentioning for the house and land. So it was held by theassignees--Cephas Dix, Deacon Whittle and myself--for private sale. We could have sold it on easy terms the next year for six thousand;but in process of trying to jack up our customer to seven, we lostout on the deal. But now--"

Judge Fulsom arose, brushed the tobacco from his waistcoat front andcleared his throat. 

"Guess I'll have to be getting along, " said he; "important papers tolook over, and--"

"A female woman, like her, is likely to change her mind beforetomorrow morning, " said the middle-aged man dubiously. "And I heardMrs. Solomon Black had offered to sell her place to the young womanfor twenty-nine hundred--all in good repair and neat as wax. Shemight take it into her head to buy it. "

"Right in the village, too, " growled Lute Parsons. "Say, Jedge, didyou give her that option she was looking for? Because if you did shecan't get out of it so easy. "

Judge Fulsom twinkled pleasantly over his bulging cheeks. 

"I sure did accommodate the young lady with the option, asaforesaid, " he vouchsafed. "And what's more, I telephoned to theGrenoble Bank to see if her check for five thousand dollars was O. K. .. . Well; so long, boys!"

He stepped ponderously down from the piazza and turned his broad backon the row of excited faces. 

"Hold on, Jedge!" the middle-aged man called after him. "Was hercheck any good? You didn't tell us!"

The Judge did not reply. He merely waved his hand. 

"He's going over to the post office, " surmised the lean youth, shifting the stub of his cigar to the corner of his mouth in aknowing manner. 

He lowered his heels to the floor with a thud and prepared to follow. Five minutes later the bartender, not hearing the familiar hum ofvoices from the piazza, thrust his head out of the door. 

"Say!" he called out to the hatchet-faced woman who was writing downsundry items in a ledger at a high desk. "The boys has all clearedout. What's up, I wonder?"

"They'll be back, " said the woman imperturbably, "an' more with 'em. You want t' git your glasses all washed up, Gus; an' you may as wellfetch up another demijohn out the cellar. "

Was it foreknowledge, or merely coincidence which at this same hourled Mrs. Solomon Black, frugally inspecting her supplies for tomorrowmorning's breakfast, to discover that her baking-powder can wasempty?

"I'll have to roll out a few biscuits for their breakfast, " shedecided, "or else I'll run short of bread for dinner. "

Her two boarders, Lydia Orr and the minister, were sitting on thepiazza, engaged in what appeared to be a most interestingconversation, when Mrs. Black unlatched the front gate and emergedupon the street, her second-best hat carefully disposed upon herwater-waves. 

"I won't be gone a minute, " she paused to assure them; "I just got tostep down to the grocery. "

A sudden hush fell upon a loud and excited conversation when Mrs. Solomon Black, very erect as to her spinal column and noticeablycomposed and dignified in her manner, entered Henry Daggett's store. She walked straight past the group of men who stood about the door tothe counter, where Mr. Daggett was wrapping in brown paper two largedill pickles dripping sourness for a small girl with straw-coloredpig-tails. 

Mr. Daggett beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black, as he dropped twocopper pennies in his cash-drawer. 

"Good evening, ma'am, " said he. "What can I do for you?"

"A ten-cent can of baking-powder, if you please, " replied the ladyprimly. 

"Must take a lot of victuals to feed them two boarders o' yourn, "hazarded Mr. Daggett, still cordially, and with a dash ofconfidential sympathy in his voice. 

Mr. Daggett had, by virtue of long association with his wife, acquired something of her spontaneous warm-heartedness. He had foundit useful in his business. 

"Oh, they ain't neither of 'em so hearty, " said Mrs. Black, searchingin her pocket-book with the air of one who is in haste. 

"We was just speakin' about the young woman that's stopping at yourhouse, " murmured Mr. Daggett. "Let me see; I disremember which kindof bakin'-powder you use, Mis' Black. "

"The Golden Rule brand, if you please, Mr. Daggett. "

"H'm; let me see if I've got one of them Golden Rules left, " musedMr. Daggett. .. . "I told the boys I guessed she was some relation ofth' Grenoble Orrs, an' mebbe--"

"Well; she ain't, " denied Mrs. Black crisply. 

"M-m-m?" interrogated Mr. Daggett, intent upon a careful search amongthe various canned products on his shelf. "How'd she happen to cometo Brookville?"

Mrs. Black tossed her head. 

"Of course it ain't for me to say, " she returned, with a dignitywhich made her appear taller than she really was. "But folks hasheard of the table I set, 'way to Boston. "

"You don't say!" exclaimed Mr. Daggett. "So she come from Boston, didshe? I thought she seemed kind of--"

"I don't know as there's any secret about where she _come_ from, "returned Mrs. Black aggressively. "I never s'posed there was. Folksain't had time to git acquainted with her yit. "

"That's so, " agreed Mr. Daggett, as if the idea was a new andvaluable one. "Yes, ma'am; you're right! we ain't none of us had timeto git acquainted. "

He beamed cordially upon Mrs. Black over the tops of his spectacles. "Looks like we're going to git a chance to know her, " he went on. "Itseems the young woman has made up her mind to settle amongst us. Yes, ma'am; we've been hearing she's on the point of buying property andsettling right down here in Brookville. "

An excited buzz of comment in the front of the store broke in uponthis confidential conversation. Mrs. Black appeared to become awarefor the first time of the score of masculine eyes fixed upon her. 

"Ain't you got any of the Golden Rule?" she demanded sharply. "Thatlooks like it to me--over in behind them cans of tomatoes. It's got ablue label. "

"Why, yes; here 'tis, sure enough, " admitted Mr. Daggett. "I guess Imust be losing my eyesight. .. . It's going to be quite a chore to fixup the old Bolton house, " he added, as he inserted the blue labeledcan of reputation in a red and yellow striped paper bag. 

"That ain't decided, " snapped Mrs. Black. "She could do better thanto buy that tumble-down old shack. "

"So she could; so she could, " soothed the postmaster. "But it's goingto be a good thing for the creditors, if she can swing it. Let mesee, you wa'n't a loser in the Bolton Bank; was you, Mis' Black?"

"No; I wa'n't; my late departed husband had too much horse-sense. "

And having thus impugned less fortunate persons, Mrs. Solomon Blackdeparted, a little stiffer as to her back-bone than when she entered. She had imparted information; she had also acquired it. When she hadreturned rather later than usual from selling her strawberries inGrenoble she had hurried her vegetables on to boil and set the tablefor dinner. She could hear the minister pacing up and down his roomin the restless way which Mrs. Black secretly resented, since itwould necessitate changing the side breadths of matting to the middleof the floor long before this should be done. But of Lydia Orr therewas no sign. The minister came promptly down stairs at sound of thebelated dinner-bell. But to Mrs. Black's voluble explanations for theunwonted hour he returned the briefest of perfunctory replies. Heseemed hungry and ate heartily of the cold boiled beef andvegetables. 

"Did you see anything of _her_ this morning?" asked Mrs. Blackpointedly, as she cut the dried-apple pie. "I can't think what'sbecome of her. "

Wesley Elliot glanced up from an absent-minded contemplation of anegg spot on the tablecloth. 

"If you refer to Miss Orr, " said he, "I did see her--in a carriagewith Deacon Whittle. "

He was instantly ashamed of the innocent prevarication. But he toldhimself he did not choose to discuss Miss Orr's affairs with Mrs. Black. 

Just then Lydia came in, her eyes shining, her cheeks very pink; butlike the minister she seemed disposed to silence, and Mrs. Black wasforced to restrain her curiosity. 

"How'd you make out this morning?" she inquired, as Lydia, havinghurried through her dinner, rose to leave the table. 

"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Black, " said the girl brightly. Then shewent at once to her room and closed the door. 

At supper time it was just the same; neither the minister nor thegirl who sat opposite him had anything to say. But no sooner had Mrs. Black begun to clear away the dishes than the two withdrew to thevine-shaded porch, as if by common consent. 

"She ought to know right off about Fanny Dodge and the minister, "Mrs. Black told herself. 

She was still revolving this in her mind as she walked sedately alongthe street, the red and yellow striped bag clasped tightly in bothhands. Of course everybody in the village would suppose she knew allabout Lydia Orr. But the fact was she knew very little. The weekbefore, one of her customers in Grenoble, in the course of a businesstransaction which involved a pair of chickens, a dozen eggs and twoboxes of strawberries, had asked, in a casual way, if Mrs. Black knewany one in Brookville who kept boarders. 

"The minister of our church boards with me, " she told the Grenoblewoman, with pardonable pride. "I don't know of anybody else thattakes boarders in Brookville. " She added that she had an extra room. 

"Well, one of my boarders--a real nice young lady from Boston--hastaken a queer notion to board in Brookville, " said the woman. "Shewas out autoing the other day and went through there. I guess thecountry 'round Brookville must be real pretty this time of year. "

"Yes; it is, real pretty, " she had told the Grenoble woman. 

And this had been the simple prelude to Lydia Orr's appearance inBrookville. 

Wooded hills did not interest Mrs. Black, nor did the meandering ofthe silver river through its narrow valley. But she took an honestpride in her own freshly painted white house with its vividly greenblinds, and in her front yard with its prim rows of annuals andthrifty young dahlias. As for Miss Lydia Orr's girlish rapture overthe view from her bedroom window, so long as it was productive ofhonestly earned dollars, Mrs. Black was disposed to view it withindulgence. There was nothing about the girl or her possessions toindicate wealth or social importance, beyond the fact that shearrived in a hired automobile from Grenoble instead of riding over inMrs. Solomon Black's spring wagon. Miss Orr brought with her toBrookville one trunk, the contents of which she had arranged at oncein the bureau drawers and wardrobe of Mrs. Black's second-bestbedroom. It was evident from a private inspection of their contentsthat Miss Orr was in mourning. 

At this point in her meditations Mrs. Black became aware of aninsistent voice hailing her from the other side of the picket fence. 

It was Mrs. Daggett, her large fair face flushed with the exertion ofhurrying down the walk leading from Mrs. Whittle's house. 

"Some of us ladies has been clearing up after the fair, " sheexplained, as she joined Mrs. Solomon Black. "It didn't seem no morethan right; for even if Ann Whittle doesn't use her parlor, onaccount of not having it furnished up, she wants it broom-clean. My!You'd ought to have seen the muss we swept out. "

"I'd have been glad to help, " said Mrs. Black stiffly; "but what withit being my day to go over to Grenoble, and my boarders t' cook forand all--"

"Oh, we didn't expect you, " said Abby Daggett tranquilly. "There wasenough of us to do everything. "

She beamed warmly upon Mrs. Black. 

"Us ladies was saying we'd all better give you a rising vote ofthanks for bringing that sweet Miss Orr to the fair. Why, 'twas areal success after all; we took in two hundred and forty-sevendollars and twenty-nine cents. Ain't that splendid?"

Mrs. Black nodded. She felt suddenly proud of her share in thissuccess. 

"I guess she wouldn't have come to the fair if I hadn't told herabout it, " she admitted. "She only come to my house yesterd'ymorning. "

"In an auto?" inquired Abby Daggett eagerly. 

"Yes, " nodded Mrs. Black. "I told her I could bring her over in thewagon just as well as not; but she said she had the man all engaged. I told her we was going to have a fair, and she said right off shewanted to come. "

Abby Daggett laid her warm plump hand on Mrs. Black's arm. 

"I dunno when I've took such a fancy to anybody at first sight, " shesaid musingly. "She's what I call a real sweet girl. I'm just goingto love her, I know. "

She gazed beseechingly at Mrs. Solomon Black. 

"Mebbe you'll think it's just gossipy curiosity; but I _would_ liketo know where that girl come from, and who her folks was, and how shehappened to come to Brookville. I s'pose you know all about her;don't you?"

Mrs. Solomon Black coughed slightly. She was aware of the distinctionshe had already acquired in the eyes of Brookville from the mere factof Lydia Orr's presence in her house. 

"If I do, " she began cautiously, "I don't know as it's for me tosay. "

"Don't fer pity's sake think I'm nosey, " besought Abby Daggett almosttearfully. "You know I ain't that kind; but I don't see how folks isgoing to help being interested in a sweet pretty girl like Miss Orr, and her coming so unexpected. And you know there's them that'llinvent things that ain't true, if they don't hear the facts. "

"She's from Boston, " said Mrs. Solomon Black grudgingly. "You cantell Lois Daggett that much, if she's getting anxious. "

Mrs. Daggett's large face crimsoned. She was one of those soft, easily hurt persons whose blushes bring tears. She sniffed a littleand raised her handkerchief to her eyes. 

"I was afraid you'd--"

"Well, of course I ain't scared of you, Abby, " relented Mrs. Black. "But I says to myself, 'I'm goin' to let Lydia Orr stand on her twoown feet in this town, ' I says. She can say what she likes aboutherself, an' there won't be no lies coming home to roost at _my_house. I guess you'd feel the very same way if you was in my place, Abby. "

Mrs. Daggett glanced with childish admiration at the other woman'smagenta-tinted face under its jetty water-waves. Even Mrs. Black'severyday hat was handsomer than her own Sunday-best. 

"You always was so smart an' sensible, Phoebe, " she said mildly. "Iremember 'way back in school, when we was both girls, you alwayscould see through arithmetic problems right off, when I couldn't forthe life of me. I guess you're right about letting her speak forherself. "

"Course I am!" agreed Mrs. Black triumphantly. 

She had extricated herself from a difficulty with flying colors. Shewould still preserve her reputation for being a close-mouthed womanwho knew a lot more about everything than she chose to tell. 

"Anybody can see she's wearing mournin', " she added benevolently. 

"Oh, I thought mebbe she had a black dress on because they'restylish. She did look awful pretty in it, with her arms and neckshowing through. I like black myself; but mourning--that's different. Poor young thing, I wonder who it was. Her father, mebbe, or hermother. You didn't happen to hear her say, did you, Phoebe?"

Mrs. Solomon Black compressed her lips tightly. She paused at her owngate with majestic dignity. 

"I guess I'll have to hurry right in, Abby, " said she. "I have mybread to set. "

Mrs. Solomon Black had closed her gate behind her, noticing as shedid so that Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr had disappeared from thepiazza where she had left them. She glanced at Mrs. Daggett, lingering wistfully before the gate. 

"Goodnight, Abby, " said she firmly. 

Chapter VI

Mrs. Maria Dodge sifted flour over her molding board preparatory totransferring the sticky mass of newly made dough from the big yellowmixing bowl to the board. More flour and a skillful twirl or two ofthe lump and the process of kneading was begun. It continuedmonotonously for the space of two minutes; then the motions becamegradually slower, finally coming to a full stop. 

"My patience!" murmured Mrs. Dodge, slapping her dough smartly. "Fanny ought to be ready by now. They'll be late--both of 'em. "

She hurriedly crossed the kitchen to where, through a partly opendoor, an uncarpeted stair could be seen winding upward. 

"Fanny!" she called sharply. "Fanny! ain't you ready yet?"

A quick step in the passage above, a subdued whistle, and her son Jimcame clattering down the stair. He glanced at his mother, a slightpucker between his handsome brows. She returned the look with one offond maternal admiration. 

"How nice you do look, Jim, " said she, and smiled up at her tall son. "I always did like you in red, and that necktie--"

Jim Dodge shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. 

"Don't know about that tie, " he said. "Kind of crude and flashy, ain't it, mother?"

"Flashy? No, of course it ain't. It looks real stylish with the brownsuit. "

"Stylish, " repeated the young man. "Yes, I'm a regularswell--everything up to date, latest Broadway cut. "

He looked down with some bitterness at his stalwart young person cladin clothes somewhat shabby, despite a recent pressing. 

Mrs. Dodge had returned to her bread which had spread in a mass ofstickiness all over the board. 

"Where's Fanny?" she asked, glancing up at the noisy little clock onthe shelf above her head. "Tell her to hurry, Jim. You're late, now. "

Jim passed his hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven chin. 

"You might as well know, mother; Fan isn't going. "

"Not going?" echoed Mrs. Dodge, sharp dismay in voice and eyes. "Why, I did up her white dress a-purpose, and she's been making up ribbonbows. "

She extricated her fingers from the bread and again hurried acrossthe floor. 

Her son intercepted her with a single long stride. 

"No use, mother, " he said quietly. "Better let her alone. "

"You think it's--?"

The young man slammed the door leading to the stairway with a fiercegesture. 

"If you weren't blinder than a bat, mother, you'd know by this timewhat ailed Fan, " he said angrily. 

Mrs. Dodge sank into a chair by the table. 

"Oh, I ain't blind, " she denied weakly; "but I thought mebbeFannie--I hoped--"

"Did you think she'd refused him?" demanded Jim roughly. "Did yousuppose--? Huh! makes me mad clean through to think of it. "

Mrs. Dodge began picking the dough off her fingers and rolling itinto little balls which she laid in a row on the edge of the table. 

"I've been awful worried about Fanny--ever since the night of thefair, " she confessed. "He was here all that afternoon and stayed totea; don't you remember? And they were just as happy together--Iguess I can tell! But he ain't been near her since. "

She paused to wipe her eyes on a corner of her gingham apron. 

"Fanny thought--at least I sort of imagined Mr. Elliot didn't likethe way you treated him that night, " she went on piteously. "You'rekind of short in your ways, Jim, if you don't like anybody; don't youknow you are?"

The young man had thrust his hands deep in his trousers' pockets andwas glowering at the dough on the molding board. 

"That's rotten nonsense, mother, " he burst out. "Do you suppose, if aman's really in love with a girl, he's going to care a cotton hatabout the way her brother treats him? You don't know much about menif you think so. No; you're on the wrong track. It wasn't my fault. "

His mother's tragic dark eyes entreated him timidly. 

"I'm awfully afraid Fanny's let herself get all wrapped up in theminister, " she half whispered. "And if he--"

"I'd like to thrash him!" interrupted her son in a low tense voice. "He's a white-livered, cowardly hypocrite, that's my name for WesleyElliot!"

"But, Jim, that ain't goin' to help Fanny--what you think of Mr. Elliot. And anyway, it ain't so. It's something else. Doyou--suppose, you could--You wouldn't like to--to speak to him, Jim--would you?"

"What! speak to that fellow about my sister? Why, mother, you must becrazy! What could I say?--'My sister Fanny is in love with you; and Idon't think you're treating her right. ' Is that your idea?"

"Hush, Jim! Don't talk so loud. She might hear you. "

"No danger of that, mother; she was lying on her bed, her face in thepillow, when I looked in her room ten minutes ago. Said she had aheadache and wasn't going. "

Mrs. Dodge drew a deep, dispirited sigh. 

"If there was only something a body could do, " she began. "You mightget into conversation with him, kind of careless, couldn't you, Jim?And then you might mention that he hadn't been to see us for twoweeks--'course you'd put it real cautious, then perhaps he--"

A light hurried step on the stair warned them to silence; the doorwas pushed open and Fanny Dodge entered the kitchen. She was wearingthe freshly ironed white dress, garnished with crisp pink ribbons;her cheeks were brilliant with color, her pretty head poised high. 

"I changed my mind, " said she, in a hard, sweet voice. "I decided I'dgo, after all. My--my head feels better. "

Mother and son exchanged stealthy glances behind the girl's back asshe leaned toward the cracked mirror between the windows, apparentlyintent upon capturing an airy tendril of hair which had escapedconfinement. 

"That's real sensible, Fanny, " approved Mrs. Dodge with perfunctorycheerfulness. "I want you should go out all you can, whilest you'reyoung, an' have a good time. "

Jim Dodge was silent; but the scowl between his eyes deepened. 

Mrs. Dodge formed three words with her lips, as she shook her head athim warningly. 

Fanny burst into a sudden ringing laugh. 

"Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother, " she cried. "I don't carewhat Jim says to me; he can say anything he likes. "

[Illustration: "Oh, I can see you in the glass, mother, " she cried. ]

Her beautiful face, half turned over her shoulder, quivered slightly. 

"If you knew how I--" she began, then stopped short. 

"That's just what I was saying to Jim, " put in her mother eagerly. 

The girl flung up both hands in a gesture of angry protest. 

"Please don't talk about me, mother--to Jim, or anybody. Do youhear?"

Her voice shrilled suddenly loud and harsh, like an untuned stringunder the bow. 

Jim Dodge flung his hat on his head with an impatient exclamation. 

"Come on, Fan, " he said roughly. "Nobody's going to bother you. Don'tyou worry. "

Mrs. Dodge had gone back to her kneading board and was thumping thedough with regular slapping motions of her capable hands, but herthin dark face was drawn into a myriad folds and puckers of anxiety. 

Fanny stooped and brushed the lined forehead with her fresh younglips. 

"Goodnight, mother, " said she. "I wish you were going. "

She drew back a little and looked down at her mother, smilingbrilliantly. 

"And don't you worry another minute about me, mother, " she saidresolutely. "I'm all right. "

"Oh, I do hope so, child, " returned her mother, sniffing back herready tears. "I'd hate to feel that you--"

The girl hurried to the door, where her brother stood watching her. 

"Come on, Jim, " she said. "We have to stop for Ellen. "

She followed him down the narrow path to the gate, holding her crispwhite skirts well away from the dew-drenched border. As the twoemerged upon the road, lying white before them under the brilliantmoonlight, Fanny glanced up timidly at her brother's dimly seenprofile under the downward sweep of his hat-brim. 

"It's real dusty, isn't it?" said she, by way of breaking a silenceshe found unbearable. "It'll make my shoes look horrid. "

"Walk over on the side more, " advised Jim laconically. 

"Then I'll get in with all those weeds; they're covered with dust andwet, besides, " objected Fanny. .. . "Say, Jim!"

"Well?"

"Wouldn't it be nice if we had an auto, then I could step in, rightin front of the house, and keep as clean as--"

The young man laughed. 

"Wouldn't you like an aëroplane better, Fan? I believe I would. "

"You could keep it in the barn; couldn't you, Jim?"

"No, " derided Jim, "the barn isn't what you'd call up-to-date. Irequire a hangar--or whatever you call 'em. "

The girl smothered a sigh. 

"If we weren't so poor--" she began. 

"Well?"

"Oh--lots of things. .. . They say that Orr girl has heaps of money. "

"Who says so?" demanded her brother roughly. 

"Why, everybody. Joyce Fulsom told me her father said so; and heought to know. Do you suppose--?"

"Do I suppose what?"

Jim's tone was almost savage. 

"What's the matter with you, Jim?"

Fanny's sweet voice conveyed impatience, almost reproach. It was asif she had said to her brother, "You know how I must feel, and yetyou are cross with me. "

Jim glanced down at her, sudden relenting in his heart. 

"I was just thinking it's pretty hard lines for both of us, " said he. "If we were rich and could come speeding into town in a snappy auto, our clothes in the latest style, I guess things would be different. There's no use talking, Fan; there's mighty little chance for oursort. And if there's one thing I hate more than another it's whatfolks call sympathy. "

"So do I!" cried Fanny. "I simply can't bear it to know that peopleare saying behind my back, 'There's _poor_ Fanny Dodge; I wonder--'Then they squeeze your hand, and gaze at you and sigh. Even mother--Iwant you to tell mother I'm not--that it isn't true--I can't talk toher, Jim. "

"I'll put her wise, " said Jim gruffly. 

After a pause, during which both walked faster than before, he saidhurriedly, as if the words broke loose:

"Don't you give that fellow another thought, Fan. He isn't worth it!"

The girl started like a blooded horse under the whip. She did notpretend to misunderstand. 

"I know you never liked him, Jim, " she said after a short silence. 

"You bet I didn't! Forget him, Fan. That's all I have to say. "

"But--if I only knew what it was--I must have done something--saidsomething-- I keep wondering and wondering. I can't help it, Jim. "

There was an irrepressible sob in the girl's voice. 

"Come, Fan, pull yourself together, " he urged. "Here's Ellen waitingfor us by the gate. Don't for heaven's sake give yourself away. Keepa stiff upper lip, old girl!"

"Well, I thought you two were never coming!" Ellen's full rich voicefloated out to them, as they came abreast of the Dix homesteadnestled back among tall locust trees. 

The girl herself daintily picked her way toward them among the weedsby the roadside. She uttered a little cry of dismay as a stray branchcaught in her muslin skirts. 

"That's the sign of a beau, Ellen, " laughed Fanny, with extravagantgayety. "The bigger the stick the handsomer and richer the beau. "

"What made you so late?" inquired Ellen, as all three proceeded ontheir way, the two girls linked affectionately arm in arm; Jim Dodgestriding in the middle of the road a little apart from hiscompanions. 

"Oh, I don't know, " fibbed Fanny. "I guess I was slow starting todress. The days are so long now I didn't realize how late it wasgetting. "

Ellen glanced sympathizingly at her friend. 

"I was afraid you wouldn't want to come, Fanny, " she murmured, "Seeing the social is at Mrs. Solomon Black's house. "

"Why shouldn't I want to come?" demanded Fanny aggressively. 

"Well, I didn't know, " replied Ellen. 

After a pause she said:

"That Orr girl has really bought the Bolton house; I suppose youheard? It's all settled; and she's going to begin fixing up the placeright off. Don't you think it's funny for a girl like her to want ahouse all to herself. I should think she'd rather board, as long asshe's single. "

"Oh, I don't know about that, " said Jim Dodge coolly. 

"You folks'll get money out of it; so shall we, " Ellen went on. "Everybody's so excited! I went down for the mail this afternoon andseemed to me 'most everybody was out in the street talking it over. My! I'd hate to be her tonight. "

"Why?" asked Fanny shortly. 

"Oh, I don't know. Everybody will be crowding around, askingquestions and saying things. .. . Do you think she's pretty, Jim?"

"Pretty?" echoed the young man. 

He shot a keen glance at Ellen Dix from under half-closed lids. Thegirl's big, black eyes were fixed full upon him; she was leaningforward, a suggestion of timid defiance in the poise of her head. 

"Well, that depends, " he said slowly. "No, I don't think she's_pretty_. "

Ellen burst into a sudden trill of laughter. 

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "I supposed all the men--"

"But I do think she's beautiful, " he finished calmly. "There's adifference, you know. "

Ellen Dix tossed her head. 

"Oh, is there?" she said airily. "Well, I don't even think she'spretty; do you, Fan?--with all that light hair, drawn back plain fromher forehead, and those big, solemn eyes. But I guess she _thinks_she's pretty, all right. "

"She doesn't think anything about herself, " said Jim doggedly. "Sheisn't that kind of a girl. "

Ellen Dix bit a vexed exclamation short. 

"I don't believe any of us know her very well, " she said, after apause. "You know what a gossip Lois Daggett is? Well, I met her andMrs. Fulsom and Mrs. Whittle coming out of the Daggetts' house. They'd been talking it over; when they saw me they stopped me to askif I'd been to see Miss Orr, and when I said no, not yet, but I wasgoing, Lois Daggett said, 'Well, I do hope she won't be quite soclose-mouthed with you girls. When I asked her, real sympathizing, who she was wearing black for, she said she had lost a dear friendand never even told who it was!'"

Jim Dodge threw back his head and burst into a laugh. 

"Served her right, " he said. 

"You mean Lois?"

"You didn't suppose I meant Miss Orr; did you?"

Jim's voice held a disdainful note which brought the hot color toEllen's cheeks. 

"I'm not so stupid as you seem to think, Jim Dodge, " she said, withspirit. 

"I never thought you were stupid, Ellen, " he returned quickly. "Don'tmake a mistake and be so now. "

Ellen gazed at him in hurt silence. She guessed at his meaning and ithumiliated her girlish pride. 

It was Fanny who said somewhat impatiently: "I'm sure I can't thinkwhat you mean, Jim. "

"Well, in my humble opinion, it would be downright stupid for you twogirls to fool yourselves into disliking Lydia Orr. She'd like to befriends with everybody; why not give her a chance?"

Again Ellen did not reply; and again it was Fanny who spoke the wordsthat rose to her friend's lips unuttered:

"I can't see how you should know so much about Miss Orr, Jim. "

"I don't myself, " he returned good-humoredly. "But sometimes a mancan see through a woman better--or at least more fair-mindedly thananother woman. You see, " he added, "there's no sex jealousy in theway. "

Both girls cried out in protest against this. 

It wasn't so, they declared. He ought to be ashamed of himself! Asfor being _jealous_ of any one--Fanny haughtily disclaimed thesuggestion, with a bitterness which astonished her friend. 

It was something of a relief to all three when the brilliantlyilluminated house and grounds belonging to Mrs. Solomon Black came inview. Japanese lanterns in lavish abundance had been strung from treeto tree and outlined the piazza and the walk leading to the house. 

"Doesn't it look lovely!" cried Ellen, scattering her vexation to thewinds. "I never saw anything so pretty!"

Inside the house further surprises awaited them; the music of harpand violins stole pleasantly through the flower-scented rooms, whichwere softly lighted with shaded lamps the like of which Brookvillehad never seen before. 

Mrs. Solomon Black, arrayed in a crisp blue taffeta, came bustling tomeet them. But not before Fanny's swift gaze had penetrated theassembled guests. Yes! there was Wesley Elliot's tall figure. He wastalking to Mrs. Henry Daggett at the far end of the double parlors. 

"Go right up stairs and lay off your things, " urged their hostesshospitably. "Ladies to the right; gents to the left. I'm so glad youcame, Fanny. I'd begun to wonder--"

The girl's lip curled haughtily. The slight emphasis on the personalpronoun and the fervid squeeze of Mrs. Black's fat hand hurt her soreheart. But she smiled brilliantly. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Black, I wouldn't have missed it for worlds!" shesaid coldly. 

Chapter VII

"Does my hair look decent?" asked Ellen, as the two girls peered intothe mirror together. "The dew does take the curl out so. It must belovely to have naturally curly hair, like yours, Fanny. It looks allthe prettier for being damp and ruffled up. "

Fanny was pulling out the fluffy masses of curling brown hair abouther forehead. 

"Your hair looks all right, Ellen, " she said absent-mindedly. 

She was wondering if Wesley Elliot would speak to her. 

"I saw that Orr girl, " whispered Ellen; "she's got on a white dress, all lace, and a black sash. She does look pretty, Fanny; we'll haveto acknowledge it. "

"Ye-es, " murmured Fanny who was drawing on a pair of fresh whitegloves. 

"You aren't going to wear those gloves down stairs, are you, Fan? Ihaven't got any. "

"My hands are all stained up with currant jelly, " explained Fannyhurriedly. "Your hands are real pretty, Ellen. "

Ellen glanced down at her capable, brown hands, with their bluntfinger-tips. 

"Did you ever notice _her_ hands, Fanny?"

Fanny shook her head. 

"Her nails are cut kind of pointed, and all shined up. And her handsare so little and soft and white. I suppose a man--do you think Jimwould notice that sort of thing, Fanny?"

Fanny snapped the fastenings of her gloves. 

"Let's go down stairs, " she suggested. "They'll be wondering what'sbecome of us. "

"Say, Fan!"

Ellen Dix caught at her friend's arm, her pretty face, with its fullpouting lips and brilliant dark eyes upturned. 

"Well?"

"Do you suppose-- You don't think Jim is mad at me for what I saidabout _her_, do you?"

"I don't remember you said anything to make anybody mad. Come, let'sgo down, Ellen. "

"But, Fan, I was wondering if that girl-- Do you know I--I kind ofwish she hadn't come to Brookville. Everything seems--different, already. Don't you think so, Fanny?"

"Oh, I don't know. Why should you think about it? She's here andthere's no use. I'm going down, Ellen. "

Fanny moved toward the stairs, her fresh young beauty heightened byan air of dignified reserve which Ellen Dix had failed to penetrate. 

Wesley Elliot, who had by now reached the wide opening into the hallin the course of his progress among the guests, glanced up as FannyDodge swept the last step of the stair with her unfashionable whitegown. 

"Why, good evening, Miss Dodge, " he exclaimed, with commendablepresence of mind, seeing the heart under his waistcoat had executedan uncomfortable _pas seul_ at sight of her. 

He held out his hand with every appearance of cordial welcome, andafter an instant's hesitation Fanny laid her gloved fingers in it. She had meant to avoid his direct gaze, but somehow his glance hadcaught and held her own. What were his eyes saying to her? Sheblushed and trembled under the soft dark fire of them. In thatinstant she appeared so wholly adorable, so temptingly sweet that theyoung man felt his prudent resolves slipping away from him one byone. Had they been alone--. .. 

But, no; Ellen Dix, her piquant, provokingly pretty face tip-tiltedwith ardent curiosity, was just behind. In another moment he wassaying, in the easy, pleasant way everybody liked, that he was gladto see Ellen; and how was Mrs. Dix, this evening? And why wasn't shethere?

Ellen replied demurely that it had been given out on Sunday as ayoung people's social; so her mother thought she wasn't included. 

They entered the crowded room, where Deacon Whittle was presentlyheard declaring that he felt just as young as anybody, so he "pickedup mother and came right along with Joe. " And Mrs. Daggett, whoseplacid face had lighted with pleasure at sight of Fanny and Ellen, proclaimed that when the day came for _her_ to stay at home from ayoung folks' social she hoped they'd bury her, right off. 

So the instant--psychological or otherwise--passed. But Fanny Dodge'sheavy heart was beating hopefully once more. 

"If I could only see him alone, " she was thinking. "He would explaineverything. "

Her thoughts flew onward to the moment when she would come downstairs once more, cloaked for departure. Perhaps Wesley--she venturedto call him Wesley in her joyously confused thoughts--perhaps Wesleywould walk home with her as on other occasions not long past. Jim, she reflected, could go with Ellen. 

Then all at once she came upon Lydia Orr, in her simple white dress, made with an elegant simplicity which convicted every girl in theroom of dowdiness. She was talking with Judge Fulsom, who was slowlyconsuming a huge saucer of ice-cream, with every appearance ofenjoyment. 

"As I understand it, my dear young lady, you wish to employBrookville talent exclusively in repairing your house, " Fanny heardhim saying, between smacking mouthfuls. 

And Lydia Orr replied, "Yes, if you please, I do want everything tobe done here. There are people who can, aren't there?"

When she saw that Fanny had paused and was gazing at her doubtfully, her hand went out with a smile, wistful and timid and sincere, all atonce. There was something so appealing in the girl's upturned face, an honesty of purpose so crystal-clear in her lovely eyes, thatFanny, still confused and uncertain whether to be happy or not, wasirresistibly drawn to her. She thought for a fleeting instant shewould like to take Lydia Orr away to some dim secluded spot and therepour out her heart. The next minute she was ready to laugh at herselffor entertaining so absurd an idea. She glanced down at Lydia'sungloved hands, which Ellen Dix had just described, and reflectedsoberly that Wesley Elliot sat at table with those dainty pink-tippedfingers three times each day. She had not answered Ellen's foolishlittle questions; but now she felt sure that any man, possessed ofhis normal faculties, could hardly fail to become aware of LydiaOrr's delicate beauty. 

Fanny compelled herself to gaze with unprejudiced eyes at the fairtransparent skin, with the warm color coming and going beneathit, at the masses of blond hair drawn softly back from the highround forehead, at the large blue eyes beneath the long sweep ofdarker lashes, at the exquisite curve of the lips and the firmlymodeled chin. Yes; Jim had seen truly; the ordinary adjective"pretty"--applicable alike to a length of ribbon, a gown, or a girlof the commoner type--could not be applied to Lydia Orr. She wasbeautiful to the discerning eye, and Fanny unwillingly admitted it. 

Lydia Orr, unabashed by the girl's frank inspection, returned hergaze with beaming friendliness. 

"Did you know I'd bought a house?" she asked. "It's old and needs alot of repairing; so I was just asking Judge Fulsom--"

"Deacon Amos Whittle is, so to say, a contractor, " said the Judgeponderously, "and so, in a way, am I. "

"A contractor?" puzzled Lydia. "Yes; but I--"

"If you'll just give over everything into our hands connected withputting the old place into A-number-one shape, I think you'll findyou can dismiss the whole matter from your mind. In two months' time, my dear young lady, we'll guarantee to pass the house over to you inapple-pie order, good as new, if not better. .. . Yes, indeed; better!"

The Judge eyed his empty saucer regretfully. 

"That's the best ice cream--" he added with total irrelevance. "Havesome, won't you? I hear they're passing it out free and permiscuousin the back room. "

"I think we should like some cream, if you please, Judge Fulsom, "said Lydia, "if you'll keep us company. "

"Oh, I'll keep company with you, as far as strawberry ice cream'sconcerned, " chuckled the Judge, his big bulk shaking with humor. "ButI see Mis' Fulsom over there; she's got her weather eye on us. Now, watch me skeedaddle for that cream! Pink, white or brown, Miss Orr;or, all three mixed? There's a young fellow out there in charge ofthe freezers that sure is a wonder. How about you, Fanny?"

The two girls looked at each other with a smile of understanding asthe big figure of the Judge moved ponderously away. 

"We never had ice cream before at a church sociable, " said Fanny. "And I didn't know Mrs. Solomon Black had so many lanterns. Did youbuy all this?"

Her gesture seemed to include the shaded lamps, the masses of flowersand trailing vines, the gay strains of music, and the plentifulrefreshments which nearly every one was enjoying. 

"It's just like a regular party, " she added. "We're not used to suchthings in Brookville. "

"Do you like it?" Lydia asked, doubtfully. 

"Why, of course, " returned Fanny, the color rising swiftly to herface. 

She had caught a glimpse of Wesley Elliot edging his way past a groupof the younger boys and girls, mad with the revelry of unlimited cakeand ice cream. He was coming directly toward their corner; his eyes, alas! fixed upon the stranger in their midst. Unconsciously Fannysighed deeply; the corners of her smiling lips drooped. She appearedall at once like a lovely rose which some one has worn for an hourand cast aside. 

"It's such a little thing to do, " murmured Lydia. 

Then, before Fanny was aware of her intention, she had slipped away. At the same moment Judge Fulsom made his appearance, elbowing hissmiling way through the crowd, a brimming saucer of vari-colored icecream in each hand. 

"Here we are!" he announced cheerfully. "Had to get a _habeas corpus_on this ice cream, though. Why, what's become of Miss Orr? Gone witha handsomer man--eh?"

He stared humorously at the minister. 

"Twa'n't you, dominie; seen' you're here. Had any ice cream yet? Noharm done, if you have. Seems to be a plenty. Take this, parson, andI'll replevin another plate for myself and one for Miss Orr. Won't begone more'n another hour. "

Fanny, piteously tongue-tied in the presence of the man she loved, glanced up at Wesley Elliot with a timidity she had never before feltin his company. His eyes under close-drawn brows were searching thecrowd. Fanny divined that she was not in his thoughts. 

"If you are looking for Miss Orr, " she said distinctly, "I think shehas gone out in the kitchen. I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to her. "

The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour backwas already forgotten. 

"Don't you think it's awfully warm in here?" continued Fanny. 

A sudden desperate desire had assailed her; she must--she wouldcompel him to some sort of an explanation. 

"It's a warm evening, " commented the minister. "But why not eat yourcream? You'll find it will cool you off. "

"I--I don't care much for ice cream, " said Fanny, in a low tremulousvoice. 

She gazed at him, her dark eyes brimming with eager questions. 

"I was wondering if we couldn't--it's pleasant out in the yard--"

"If you'll excuse me for just a moment, Miss Dodge, " Wesley Elliot'stone was blandly courteous--"I'll try and find you a chair. Theyappear to be scarce articles; I believe the ladies removed most ofthem to the rear of the house. Pardon me--"

He set down his plate of ice cream on the top shelf of Mrs. SolomonBlack's what-not, thereby deranging a careful group of sea-shells anddaguerreotypes, and walked quickly away. 

Fanny's face flushed to a painful crimson; then as suddenly paled. She was a proud girl, accustomed to love and admiration since earlychildhood, when she had queened it over her playmates because heryellow curls were longer than theirs, her cheeks pinker, her eyesbrighter and her slim, strong body taller. Fanny had never beencompelled to stoop from her graceful height to secure masculineattention. It had been hers by a sort of divine right. She had notbeen at all surprised when the handsome young minister had looked ather twice, thrice, to every other girl's once, nor when he hadsingled her out from the others in the various social events of thecountry side. 

Fanny had long ago resolved, in the secret of her own heart, that shewould never, never become the hard-worked wife of a plodding farmer. Somewhere in the world--riding toward her on the steed of hispassionate desire--was the fairy prince; her prince, coming to lifther out from the sordid commonplace of life in Brookville. Almostfrom the very first she had recognized Wesley Elliot as herdeliverer. 

Once he had said to her: "I have a strange feeling that I have knownyou always. " She had cherished the saying in her heart, hoping--believing that it might, in some vague, mysterious way, betrue. And not at all aware that this pretty sentiment is as old asthe race and the merest banality on the masculine tongue, signifying:"At this moment I am drawn to you, as to no other woman; but an hourhence it may be otherwise. " . .. How else may man, as yet imperfectlymonogamous, find the mate for whom he is ever ardently questing? Inthis woman he finds the trick of a lifted lash, or a shadowy dimplein the melting rose of her cheek. In another, the stately curve ofneck and shoulder and the somber fire of dark eyes draws his rovinggaze; in a third, there is a soft, adorable prettiness, like that ofa baby. He has always known them--all. And thus it is, that lovecomes and goes unbidden, like the wind which blows where it listeth;and woman, hearing the sound thereof, cannot tell whence it comethnor whither it goeth. 

In this particular instance Wesley Elliot had not chosen to examinethe secret movements of his own mind. Baldly speaking, he hadcherished a fleeting fancy for Fanny Dodge, a sort of love inidleness, which comes to a man like the delicate, floating seeds ofthe parasite orchid, capable indeed of exquisite blossoming; butdeadly to the tree upon which it fastens. He had resolved to freehimself. It was a sensible resolve. He was glad he had made up hismind to it before it was too late. Upon the possible discomfiture ofFanny Dodge he bestowed but a single thought: She would get over it. "It" meaning a quite pardonable fancy--he refused to give it a morespecific name--for himself. To the unvoiced opinions of Mrs. SolomonBlack, Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Ellen Dix, Mrs. Abby Daggett and all theother women of his parish he was wholly indifferent. Men, he was gladto remember, never bothered their heads about another man's loveaffairs. .. . 

The chairs from the sitting room had been removed to the yard, wherethey were grouped about small tables adequately illuminated by themoon and numerous Japanese lanterns. Every second chair appeared tobe filled by a giggling, pink-cheeked girl; the others being suitablyoccupied by youths of the opposite sex--all pleasantly occupied. Theminister conscientiously searched for the chair he had promised tofetch to Fanny Dodge; but it never once occurred to him to bringFanny out to the cool loveliness of mingled moon and lantern-light. There was no unoccupied chair, as he quickly discovered; but he camepresently upon Lydia Orr, apparently doing nothing at all. She wasstanding near Mrs. Black's boundary picket fence, shielded from theobservation of the joyous groups about the little tables by thedown-dropping branches of an apple-tree. 

"I was looking for you!" said Wesley Elliot. 

It was the truth; but it surprised him nevertheless. He supposed hehad been looking for a chair. 

"Were you?" said Lydia, smiling. 

She moved a little away from him. 

"I must go in, " she murmured. 

"Why must you? It's delightful out here--so cool and--"

"Yes, I know. But the others-- Why not bring Miss Dodge out of thathot room? I thought she looked tired. "

"I didn't notice, " he said. .. . "Just look at that flock of littlewhite clouds up there with the moon shining through them!"

Lydia glided away over the soft grass. 

"I've been looking at them for a long time, " she said gently. "I mustgo now and help cut more cake. "

He made a gesture of disgust. 

"They're fairly stuffing, " he complained. "And, anyway, there areplenty of women to attend to all that. I want to talk to you, MissOrr. "

His tone was authoritative. 

She turned her head and looked at him. 

"To talk to me?" she echoed. 

"Yes; come back--for just a minute. I know what you're thinking: thatit's my duty to be talking to parishioners. Well, I've been doingthat all the evening. I think I'm entitled to a moment of relaxation;don't you?"

"I'm a parishioner, " she reminded him. 

"So you are, " he agreed joyously. "And I haven't had a word with youthis evening, so far; so you see it's my duty to talk to you; andit's your duty to listen. "

"Well?" she murmured. 

Her face upturned to his in the moonlight wore the austere lovelinessof a saint's. 

[Illustration: Her face upturned to his in the moonlight, wore theaustere loveliness of a saint's. ]

"I wish you'd tell me something, " he said, his fine dark eyes takingin every detail of delicate tint and outline. "Do you know it allseems very strange and unusual to me--your coming to Brookville theway you did, and doing so much to--to make the people here happy. "

She drew a deep, sighing breath. 

"I'm afraid it isn't going to be easy, " she said slowly. "I thoughtit would be; but--"

"Then you came with that intention, " he inferred quickly. "You meantto do it from the beginning. But just what was the beginning? Whatever attracted your attention to this forlorn little place?"

She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she smiled. 

"I might ask you the same question, " she said at last. "Why did youcome to Brookville, Mr. Elliot?"

He made an impatient gesture. 

"Oh, that is easily explained. I had a call to Brookville. "

"So did I, " she murmured. "Yes; I think that was the reason--if theremust be a reason. "

"There is always a reason for everything, " he urged. "But you didn'tunderstand me. Do you know I couldn't say this to another soul inBrookville; but I'm going to tell you: I wanted to live and work in abig city, and I tried to find a church--"

"Yes; I know, " she said, unexpectedly. "One can't always go where onewishes to go, just at first. Things turn out that way, sometimes. "

"They seemed to want me here in Brookville, " he said, with somebitterness. "It was a last resort, for me. I might have taken aposition in a school; but I couldn't bring myself to that. I'ddreamed of preaching--to big audiences. "

She smiled at him, with a gentle sidewise motion of the head. 

"God lets us do things, if we want to hard enough, " she told himquite simply. 

"Do you believe that?" he cried. "Perhaps you'll think it strange forme to ask; but do you?"

A great wave of emotion seemed to pass over her quiet face. He saw italter strangely under his gaze. For an instant she stoodtransfigured; smiling, without word or movement. Then the inwardlight subsided. She was only an ordinary young woman, once more, uponwhom one might bestow an indulgent smile--so simple, even childlikeshe was, in her unaffected modesty. 

"I really must go in, " she said apologetically, "and help them cutthe cake. "

Chapter VIII

Jim Dodge had been hoeing potatoes all day. It was hard, monotonouswork, and he secretly detested it. But the hunting season was faraway, and the growing potatoes were grievously beset by weeds; so hehad cut and thrust with his sharp-bladed hoe from early morning tillthe sun burned the crest of the great high-shouldered hill whichappeared to close in the valley like a rampart, off Grenoble way. Asa matter of fact, the brawling stream which gave Brookville its namesuccessfully skirted the hill by a narrow margin which likewiseafforded space for the state road. 

But the young man was not considering either the geographicalcontours of the country at large or the refreshed and renovatedpotato field, with its serried ranks of low-growing plants, as hetramped heavily crosslots toward the house. At noon, when he came into dinner, in response to the wideflung summons of the tin horn whichhung by the back door, he had found the two women of his household ina pleasurable state of excitement. 

"We've got our share, Jim!" proclaimed Mrs. Dodge, a bright red spotglowing on either thin cheek. "See! here's the check; it came in themail this morning. "

And she spread a crackling bit of paper under her son's eyes. 

"I was some surprised to get it so soon, " she added. "Folks ain'tgenerally in any great hurry to part with their money. But they dosay Miss Orr paid right down for the place--never even asked 'em forany sort of terms; and th' land knows they'd have been glad to giventhem to her, or to anybody that had bought the place these dozenyears back. Likely she didn't know that. "

Jim scowled at the check. 

"How much did she pay for the place?" he demanded. "It must have beena lot more than it was worth, judging from this. "

"I don't know, " Mrs. Dodge replied. "And I dunno as I careparticularly, as long's we've got our share of it. "

She was swaying back and forth in a squeaky old rocking-chair, thecheck clasped in both thin hands. 

"Shall we bank it, children; or draw it all out in cash? Fanny needsnew clothes; so do you, Jim. And I've got to have a new carpet, orsomething, for the parlor. Those skins of wild animals you brought inare all right, Jim, if one can't get anything better. I suppose we'dought to be prudent and saving; but I declare we haven't had anymoney to speak of, for so long--"

Mrs. Dodge's faded eyes were glowing with joy; she spread the checkupon her lap and gazed at it smilingly. 

"I declare it's the biggest surprise I've had in all my life!"

"Let's spend every cent of it, " proposed Fanny recklessly. "We didn'tknow we were going to have it. We can scrub along afterward the sameas we always have. Let's divide it into four parts: one for thehouse--to fix it up--and one for each of us, to spend any way welike. What do you say, Jim?"

"I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Deacon Whittle would furnish up her bestparlor something elegant, " surmised Mrs. Dodge. "She's always saidshe was goin' to have gilt paper and marble tops and electric blueplush upholstered furniture. I guess that'll be the last fair we'llever have in that house. She wouldn't have everybody trampin' overher flowered Body-Brussels. I suppose _we_ might buy some plushfurniture; but I don't know as I'd care for electric blue. What doyou think, son?"

Jim Dodge sat sprawled out in his chair before the half-set table. Atthis picture of magnificence, about to be realized in the abode ofDeacon Amos Whittle, he gave vent to an inarticulate growl. 

"What's the matter with you, Jim?" shrilled his mother, whoseperpetually jangled nerves were capable of strange dissonances. "Anybody'd suppose you wasn't pleased at having the old Bolton placesold at last, and a little bit of all that's been owing to us sincebefore your poor father died, paid off. My! If we was to have allthat was coming to us by rights, with the interest money--"

"I'm hungry and tired, mother, and I want my dinner, " said Jimbrusquely. "That check won't hoe the potatoes; so I guess I'll haveto do it, same as usual. "

"For pity sake, Fanny!" cried his mother, "did you put the vegetablesover to boil? I ain't thought of anything since this check came. "

It appeared that Fanny had been less forgetful. 

After his belated dinner, Jim had gone back to his potatoes, leavinghis mother and sister deep in discussion over the comparative virtuesof Nottingham lace and plain muslin, made up with ruffles, for parlorcurtains. 

"I really believe I'd rather spend more on the house than on clo'esat my age, " he heard his mother saying, happily, as he strode away. 

All during the afternoon, to the clink of myriad small stones againstthe busy blade of his hoe, Jim thought about Lydia Orr. He could nothelp seeing that it was to Lydia he owed the prospect of a muchneeded suit of clothes. It would be Lydia who hung curtains, ofwhatever sort, in their shabby best room. And no other than Lydia wasto furnish Mrs. Whittle's empty parlor. She had already given theminister a new long-tailed coat, as Jim chose to characterize theministerial black. His cheeks burned under the slanting rays of theafternoon sun with something deeper than an added coat of tan. Whyshould Lydia Orr--that slip of a girl, with the eyes of a baby, or asaint--do all this? Jim found himself unable to believe that shereally wanted the Bolton place. Why, the house was an uninhabitableruin! It would cost thousands of dollars to rebuild it. 

He set his jaw savagely as he recalled his late conversation withDeacon Whittle. "The cheating old skinflint, " as he mentally termedthat worthy pillar of the church, had, he was sure, bamboozled thegirl into buying a well-nigh worthless property, at a scandalousprice. It was a shame! He, Jim Dodge, even now burned with the shameof it. He pondered briefly the possibilities of taking from hismother the check, which represented the _pro rata_ share of the Dodgeestate, and returning it to Lydia Orr. Reluctantly he abandoned thisquixotic scheme. The swindle--for as such he chose to view it--hadalready been accomplished. Other people would not return theirchecks. On the contrary, there would be new and fertile schemes seton foot to part the unworldly stranger and her money. 

He flung down his hoe in disgust and straightened his achingshoulders. The whole sordid transaction put him in mind of the greedyonslaught of a horde of hungry ants on a beautiful, defenselessflower, its torn corolla exuding sweetness. .. . And there must be somesort of reason behind it. Why had Lydia Orr come to Brookville?

And here, unwittingly, Jim's blind conjectures followed those ofWesley Elliot. He had told Lydia Orr he meant to call upon her. Thathe had not yet accomplished his purpose had been due to thewatchfulness of Mrs. Solomon Black. On the two occasions when he hadrung Mrs. Black's front door-bell, that lady herself had appeared inresponse to its summons. On both occasions she had informed Mr. Dodgetartly that Miss Orr wasn't at home. 

On the occasion of his second disappointment he had offered to awaitthe young lady's home-coming. 

"There ain't no use of that, Jim, " Mrs. Black had assured him. "MissOrr's gone t' Boston to stay two days. "

Then she had unlatched her close-shut lips to add: "She goes therefrequent, on business. "

Her eyes appeared to inform him further that Miss Orr's business, ofwhatever nature, was none of _his_ business and never would be. 

"That old girl is down on me for some reason or other, " he toldhimself ruefully, as he walked away for the second time. But he wasnone the less resolved to pursue his hopefully nascent friendshipwith Lydia Orr. 

He was thinking of her vaguely as he walked toward the house whichhad been his father's, and where he and Fanny had been born. It waslittle and low and old, as he viewed it indifferently in the fadinglight of the sunset sky. Its walls had needed painting so long, thatfor years nobody had even mentioned the subject. Its picturesquelymossy roof leaked. But a leaky roof was a commonplace in Brookville. It was customary to set rusty tin pans, their holes stopped withrags, under such spots as actually let in water; the emptying of thepans being a regular household "chore. " Somehow, he found himselfdisliking to enter; his mother and Fanny would still be talking aboutthe disposition of Lydia Orr's money. To his relief he found hissister alone in the kitchen, which served as a general living room. The small square table neatly spread for two stood against the wall;Fanny was standing by the window, her face close to the pane, andapparently intent upon the prospect without, which comprised a grassystretch of yard flanked by a dull rampart of over-grown lilac bushes. 

"Where's mother?" inquired Jim, as he hung his hat on the accustomednail. 

"She went down to the village, " said Fanny, turning her back on thewindow with suspicious haste. "There was a meeting of the sewingsociety at Mrs. Daggett's. "

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jim. "What an opportunity!"

"Opportunity?" echoed Fanny vaguely. 

"Yes; for talking it over. Can't you imagine the clack of tongues;the 'I says to _her_, ' and 'she told _me_, ' and 'what _do_ youthink!'"

"Don't be sarcastic and disagreeable, Jim, " advised Fanny, with someheat. "When you think of it, it _is_ a wonder--that girl coming herethe way she did; buying out the fair, just as everybody wasdiscouraged over it. And now--"

"How do you explain it, Fan?" asked her brother. 

"Explain it? I can't explain it. Nobody seems to know anything abouther, except that she's from Boston and seems to have heaps of money. "

Jim was wiping his hands on the roller-towel behind the door. 

"I had a chance to annex a little more of Miss Orr's money today, " heobserved grimly. "But I haven't made up my mind yet whether to do it, or not. "

Fanny laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 

"If you don't, somebody else will, " she replied. "It was DeaconWhittle, wasn't it? He stopped at the house this afternoon and wantedto know where to find you. "

"They're going right to work on the old place, and there's plenty todo for everybody, including yours truly, at four dollars a day. "

"What sort of work?" inquired Fanny. 

"All sorts: pulling down and building up; clearing away andreplanting. The place is a jungle, you know. But four dollars a day!It's like taking candy from a baby. "

"It sounds like a great deal, " said the girl. "But why shouldn't youdo it?"

Jim laughed. 

"Why, indeed? I might earn enough to put a shingle or two on our ownroof. It looks like honest money; but--"

Fanny was busy putting the finishing touches to the supper table. 

"Mother's going to stop for tea at Mrs. Daggett's, and go to prayermeeting afterward, " she said. "We may as well eat. "

The two sat down, facing each other. 

"What did you mean, Jim?" asked Fanny, as she passed the bread plateto her brother. "You said, 'It looks like honest money; but--'"

"I guess I'm a fool, " he grumbled; "but there's something about thewhole business I don't like. .. . Have some of this apple sauce, Fan?"

The girl passed her plate for a spoonful of the thick compound, andin return shoved the home-dried beef toward her brother. 

"I don't see anything queer about it, " she replied dully. "I supposea person with money might come to Brookville and want to buy a house. The old Bolton place used to be beautiful, mother says. I suppose itcan be again. And if she chooses to spend her money that way--"

"That's just the point I can't see: why on earth should she want tosaddle herself with a proposition like that?"

Fanny's mute lips trembled. She was thinking she knew very well whyLydia Orr had chosen to come to Brookville: in some way unknown toFanny, Miss Orr had chanced to meet the incomparable Wesley Elliot, and had straightway set her affections upon him. Fanny had beenthinking it over, ever since the night of the social at Mrs. SolomonBlack's. Up to the moment when Wesley--she couldn't help calling himWesley still--had left her, on pretense of fetching a chair, she hadinstantly divined that it was a pretense, and of course he had notreturned. Her cheeks tingled hotly as she recalled the way in whichJoyce Fulsom had remarked the plate of melting ice cream on the topshelf of Mrs. Black's what-not:

"I guess Mr. Elliot forgot his cream, " the girl had said, with aspark of malice. "I saw him out in the yard awhile ago talking tothat Miss Orr. "

Fanny had humiliated herself still further by pretending she didn'tknow it was the minister who had left his ice cream to dissolve in apink and brown puddle of sweetness. Whereat Joyce Fulsom had giggleddisagreeably. 

"Better keep your eye on him, Fan, " she had advised. 

Of course she couldn't speak of this to Jim; but it was all plainenough to her. 

"I'm going down to the village for awhile, Fan, " her brother said, ashe arose from the table. But he did not, as was his custom, inviteher to accompany him. 

After Jim had gone, Fanny washed the dishes with mechanicalswiftness. Her mother had asked her if she would come to prayermeeting, and walk home with her afterwards. Not that Mrs. Dodge wastimid; the neighborhood of Brookville had never been haunted afternightfall by anything more dangerous than whippoorwills and frogs. Aplaintive chorus of night sounds greeted the girl, as she stepped outinto the darkness. How sweet the honeysuckle and late roses smelledunder the dew! Fanny walked slowly across the yard to the oldsummer-house, where the minister had asked her to call him Wesley, and sat down. It was very dark under the thick-growing vines, andafter awhile tranquillity of a sort stole over the girl's spirit. Shegazed out into the dim spaces beyond the summer-house and thought, with a curious detachment, of all that had happened. It was as if shehad grown old and was looking back calmly to a girlhood long sincepast. She could almost smile at the recollection of herself stiflingher sobs in her pillow, lest Jim should hear. 

"Why should I care for him?" she asked herself wonderingly; and couldnot tell. 

Then all at once she found herself weeping softly, her head on therickety table. 

Jim Dodge, too intently absorbed in his own confused thoughts to paymuch attention to Fanny, had walked resolutely in the direction ofMrs. Solomon Black's house; from which, he reflected, the ministerwould be obliged to absent himself for at least an hour. He hopedMrs. Black had not induced Lydia to go to the prayer meeting withher. Why any one should voluntarily go to a prayer meeting passed hiscomprehension. Jim had once attended what was known as a "protractedmeeting, " for the sole purpose of pleasing his mother, who all atonce had appeared tearfully anxious about his "soul. " He had notenjoyed the experience. 

"Are you saved, my dear young brother?" Deacon Whittle had inquiredof him, in his snuffling, whining, peculiarly objectionable tone. 

"From what, Deacon?" Jim had blandly inquired. "You in for it, too?"

Whereat the Deacon had piously shaken his head and referred him tothe "mourner's pew, " with the hope that he might even yet be pluckedas a brand from the burning. 

Lydia had not gone to the prayer meeting. She was sitting on thepiazza, quite alone. She arose when her determined visitor boldlywalked up the steps. 

"Oh, it is you!" said she. 

An unreasonable feeling of elation arose in the young man's breast. 

"Did you think I wasn't coming?" he inquired, with all the egotism ofwhich he had been justly accused. 

He did not wait for her reply; but proceeded with considerable humorto describe his previous unsuccessful attempts to see her. 

"I suppose, " he added, "Mrs. Solomon Black has kindly warned youagainst me?"

She could not deny it; so smiled instead. 

"Well, " said the young man, "I give you my word I'm not a villain: Ineither drink, steal, nor gamble. But I'm not a saint, after theprescribed Brookville pattern. "

He appeared rather proud of the fact, she thought. Aloud she said, with pardonable curiosity:

"What is the Brookville pattern? I ought to know, since I am to livehere. "

At this he dropped his bantering tone. 

"I wanted to talk to you about that, " he said gravely. 

"You mean--?"

"About your buying the old Bolton place and paying such apreposterous price for it, and all the rest, including the minister'sback-pay. "

She remained silent, playing with the ribbon of her sash. 

"I have a sort of inward conviction that you're not doing it becauseyou think Brookville is such a pleasant place to live in, " he wenton, keenly observant of the sudden color fluttering in her cheeks, revealed by the light of Mrs. Solomon Black's parlor lamp which stoodon a stand just inside the carefully screened window. "It looks, " hefinished, "as if you--well; it may be a queer thing for me to say;but I'll tell you frankly that when mother showed me the check shegot today I felt that it was--charity. "

She shook her head. 

"Oh, no, " she said quickly. "You are quite, quite in the wrong. "

"But you can't make me believe that with all your money--pardon mefor mentioning what everybody in the village is talking about--You'll have to convince me that the old Bolton place has oil underit, or coal or diamonds, before I--"

"Why should you need to be convinced of anything so unlikely?" sheasked, with gentle coldness. 

He reddened angrily. 

"Of course it's none of my business, " he conceded. 

"I didn't mean that. But, naturally, I could have no idea of coal oroil--"

"Well; I won't work for you at any four dollars a day, " he saidloudly. "I thought I'd like to tell you. "

"I don't want you to, " she said. "Didn't Deacon Whittle give you mymessage?"

He got hurriedly to his feet with a muttered exclamation. 

"Please sit down, Mr. Dodge, " she bade him tranquilly. "I've beenwanting to see you all day. But there are so few telephones inBrookville it is difficult to get word to people. "

He eyed her with stubborn resentment. 

"What I meant to say was that four dollars a day is too much! Don'tyou know anything about the value of money, Miss Orr? Somebody oughtto have common honesty enough to inform you that there are plenty ofmen in Brookville who would be thankful to work for two dollars aday. I would, for one; and I won't take a cent more. "

She was frowning a little over these statements. The stalwart youngman in shabby clothes who sat facing her under the light of Mrs. Solomon Black's well-trimmed lamp appeared to puzzle her. 

"But why shouldn't you want to earn all you can?" she propounded atlast. "Isn't there anything you need to use money for?"

"Oh, just a few things, " he admitted grudgingly. "I suppose you'venoticed that I'm not exactly the glass of fashion and the mold ofform. "

He was instantly ashamed of himself for the crude personality. 

"You must think I'm a fool!" burst from him, under the sting of hisself-inflicted lash. 

She smiled and shook her head. 

"I'm not at all the sort of person you appear to think me, " she said. Her grave blue eyes looked straight into his. "But don't let's wastetime trying to be clever: I want to ask you if you are willing, for afair salary, to take charge of the outdoor improvements at BoltonHouse. "

She colored swiftly at sight of the quizzical lift of his brows. 

"I've decided to call my place 'Bolton House' for several reasons, "she went on rapidly: "for one thing, everybody has always called itthe Bolton place, so it will be easier for the workmen and everybodyto know what place is meant. Besides, I--"

"Yes; but the name of Bolton has an ill-omened sound in Brookvilleears, " he objected. "You've no idea how people here hate that man. "

"It all happened so long ago, I should think they might forgive himby now, " she offered, after a pause. 

"I wouldn't call my house after a thief, " he said strongly. "Thereare hundreds of prettier names. Why not--Pine Court, for example?"

"You haven't told me yet if you will accept the position I spoke of. "

He passed his hand over his clean-shaven chin, a trick he hadinherited from his father, and surveyed her steadily from undermeditative brows. 

"In the first place, I'm not a landscape gardener, Miss Orr, " hestated. "That's the sort of man you want. You can get one in Boston, who'll group your evergreens, open vistas, build pergolas and allthat sort of thing. "

"You appear to know exactly what I want, " she laughed. 

"Perhaps I do, " he defied her. 

"But, seriously, I don't want and won't have a landscape-gardenerfrom Boston--with due deference to your well-formed opinions, Mr. Dodge. I intend to mess around myself, and change my mind every otherday about all sorts of things. I want to work things out, not onpaper in cold black and white; but in terms of growing things--wildthings out of the woods. You understand, I'm sure. "

The dawning light in his eyes told her that he did. 

"But I've had no experience, " he hesitated. "Besides, I'veconsiderable farm-work of my own to do. I've been hoeing potatoes allday. Tomorrow I shall have to go into the cornfield, or lose my crop. Time, tide and weeds wait for no man. "

"I supposed you were a hunter, " she said. "I thought--"

He laughed unpleasantly. 

"Oh, I see, " he interrupted rudely: "you supposed, in other words, that I was an idle chap, addicted to wandering about the woods, a gunon my shoulder, a cur--quite as much of a ne'er-do-well as myself--atmy heels. Of course Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Solomon Black have toldyou all about it. And since you've set about reforming Brookville, you thought you'd begin with me. Well, I'm obliged to you; but--"

The girl arose trembling to her feet. 

"You are not kind!" she cried. "You are not kind!"

They stood for an instant, gazing into each other's eyes during oneof those flashes of time which sometimes count for years. 

"Forgive me, " he muttered huskily. "I'm a brute at best; but I had nobusiness to speak to you as I did. "

"But why did you say--what made you ever think I'd set aboutreforming--that is what you said--_reforming_--Brookville? I neverthought of such a thing! How could I?"

He hung his head, abashed by the lightning in her mild eyes. 

She clasped her small, fair hands and bent toward him. 

"And you said you wanted to be--friends. I hoped--"

"I do, " he said gruffly. "I've told you I'm ashamed of myself. "

She drew back, sighing deeply. 

"I don't want you to feel--ashamed, " she said, in a sweet, tiredvoice. "But I wish--"

"Tell me!" he urged, when she did not finish her sentence. 

"Do you think everybody is going to misunderstand me, as you have?"she asked, somewhat piteously. "Is it so strange and unheard of athing for a woman to want a home and--and friends? Isn't it allowablefor a person who has money to want to pay fair wages? Why should Iscrimp and haggle and screw, when I want most of all to be generous?"

"Because, " he told her seriously, "scrimping, haggling and screwinghave been the fashion for so long, the other thing rouses meansuspicions by its very novelty. It's too good to be true; that'sall. "

"You mean people will suspect--they'll think there's something--"

She stood before him, her hands fallen at her sides, her eyesdowncast. 

"I confess I couldn't believe that there wasn't an ulterior motive, "he said honestly. "That's where I was less noble than you. "

She flashed a sudden strange look at him. 

"There is, " she breathed. "I'm going to be honest--with you. Ihave--an ulterior motive. "

"Will you tell me what it is?"

Her lips formed the single word of denial. 

He gazed at her in silence for a moment. 

"I'm going to accept the post you just offered me, Miss Orr; at anysalary you think I'm worth, " he said gravely. 

"Thank you, " she murmured. 

Steps and the sound of voices floated across the picket fence. Thegate rasped on its rusted hinges; then slammed shut. 

"If I was you, Mr. Elliot, " came the penetrating accents of Mrs. Solomon Black's voice, "I should hire a reg'lar reviv'list along inth' fall, after preservin' an' house-cleanin' time. We need anoutpourin' of grace, right here in Brookville; and we can't get it noother way. "

And the minister's cultured voice in reply:

"I shall give your suggestion the most careful consideration, Mrs. Black, between now and the autumn season. "

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Jim Dodge; "this is no place for me! Goodnight, Miss Orr!"

She laid her hand in his. 

"You can trust me, " he said briefly, and became on the instant aflitting shadow among the lilac bushes, lightly vaulting over thefence and mingling with the darker shadows beyond. 

Chapter IX

"Now, Henry, " said Mrs. Daggett, as she smilingly set a plate ofperfectly browned pancakes before her husband, which he proceeded todeluge with butter and maple syrup, "are you sure that's _so_, aboutthe furniture? 'Cause if it is, we've got two or three o' them thingsright in this house: that chair you're settin' in, for one, an'upstairs there's that ol' fashioned brown bureau, where I keep thesheets 'n' pillow slips. You don't s'pose she'd want that, do you?"

Mrs. Daggett sank down in a chair opposite her husband, her largepink and white face damp with moisture. Above her forehead a mist ofairy curls fluttered in the warm breeze from the open window. 

"My, ain't it hot!" she sighed. "I got all het up a-bakin' themcakes. Shall I fry you another griddleful, papa?"

"They cer'nly do taste kind o' moreish, Abby, " conceded Mr. Daggettthickly. "You do beat the Dutch, Abby, when it comes t' pancakes. Mebbe I could manage a few more of 'em. "

Mrs. Daggett beamed sincerest satisfaction. 

"Oh, I don't know, " she deprecated happily. "Ann Whittle says I don'tmix batter the way she does. But if _you_ like 'em, Henry--"

"Couldn't be beat, Abby, " affirmed Mr. Daggett sturdily, as hereached for his third cup of coffee. 

The cook stove was only a few steps away, so the sizzle of the batteras it expanded into generous disks on the smoking griddle did notinterrupt the conversation. Mrs. Daggett, in her blue and whitestriped gingham, a pancake turner in one plump hand, smiled throughthe odorous blue haze like a tutelary goddess. Mr. Daggett, in hisshirt-sleeves, his scant locks brushed carefully over his bald spot, gazed at her with placid satisfaction. He was thoroughly accustomedto having Abby wait upon his appetite. 

"I got to get down to the store kind of early this morning, Abby, " heobserved, frowning slightly at his empty plate. 

"I'll have 'em for you in two shakes of a lamb's tail, papa, " soothedMrs. Daggett, to whom the above remark had come to signify not merelya statement of fact, but a gentle reprimand. "I know you like 'emgood and hot; and cold buckwheat cakes certainly is about th' meanestvict'als. .. . There!"

And she transferred a neat pile of the delicate, crisp rounds fromthe griddle to her husband's plate with a skill born of longpractice. 

"About that furnitur', " remarked Mr. Daggett, gazing thoughtfully atthe golden stream of sweetness, stolen from leaf and branch of thebig sugar maples behind the house to supply the pewter syrup-jug hesuspended above his cakes, "I guess it's a fact she wants it, allright. "

"I should think she'd rather have new furniture; Henry, they do saythe house is going to be handsome. But you say she wants the oldstuff? Ain't that queer, for anybody with means. "

"Well, that Orr girl beats me, " Mr. Daggett acknowledged handsomely. "She seems kind of soft an' easy, when you talk to her; but she's gotideas of her own; an' you can't no more talk 'em out of her--"

"Why should you try to talk 'em out of her, papa?" inquired Mrs. Daggett mildly. "Mebbe her ideas is all right; and anyhow, s'long asshe's paying out good money--"

"Oh, she'll pay! she'll pay!" said Mr. Daggett, with a large gesture. "Ain't no doubt about her paying for what she wants. "

He shoved his plate aside, and tipped back in his chair with a heavyyawn. 

"She's asked me to see about the wall paper, Abby, " he continued, bringing down his chair with a resounding thump of its sturdy legs. "And she's got the most outlandish notions about it; asked me could Imatch up what was on the walls. "

"Match it up? Why, ain't th' paper all moldered away, Henry, with thedamp an' all?"

"'Course it is, Abby; but she says she wants to restore thehouse--fix it up just as 'twas. She says that's th' correct thing todo. 'Why, shucks!' I sez, 'the wall papers they're gettin' out now isa lot handsomer than them old style papers. You don't want no oldstuff like that, ' I sez. But, I swan! you can't tell that girlnothing, for all she seems so mild and meachin'. I was wonderin' ifyou couldn't shove some sense into her, Abby. Now, I'd like th' jobof furnishin' up that house with new stuff. 'I don't carry a very bigstock of furniture, ' I sez to her; but--"

"Why, Hen-ery Daggett!" reproved his wife, "an' you a reg'larprofessing member of the church! You ain't never carried no stock offurniture in the store, and you know it. "

"That ain't no sign I ain't never goin' to, Abby, " retorted Mr. Daggett with spirit. "We been stuck right down in the mud here inBrookville since that dratted bank failed. Nobody's moved, except tothe graveyard. And here comes along a young woman with money . .. I'dlike mighty well to know just how much she's got an' where it comefrom. I asked the Judge, and he says, blamed if he knows. .. . But this'ere young female spells op-per-tunity, Abby. We got to takeadvantage of the situation, Abby, same as you do in blackberryingseason: pick 'em when they're ripe; if you don't, the birds and thebugs'll get 'em. "

"It don't sound right to me, papa, " murmured his wife, her kind facefull of soft distress: "Taking advantage of a poor young thing, likeher, an' all in mourning, too, fer a near friend. She told Lois so. .. Dear, dear!"

Mr. Daggett had filled his morning pipe and was puffing energeticallyin his efforts to make it draw. 

"I didn't _say_ take advantage of _her_, " he objected. "That'ssomethin' I never done yet in my business, Abby. Th' Lord knows Idon't sand my sugar nor water my vinegar, the way some storekeepersdo. I'm all for 'live an' let live. ' What I says was--. .. Now, youpay attention to me, Abby, and quit sniffling. You're a good woman;but you're about as soft as that there butter! . .. "

The article in question had melted to a yellow pool under the heat. Mrs. Daggett gazed at it with wide blue eyes, like those of a child. 

"Why, Henry, " she protested, "I never heerd you talk so before. "

"And likely you won't again. Now you listen, Abby; all I want, is todo what honest business I can with this young woman. She's bound tospend her money, and she's kind of took to me; comes into th' storeafter her mail, and hangs around and buys the greatest lot o' stuff--'Land!' I says to her: 'a body'd think you was getting ready to getmarried. '"

"Well, now I shouldn't wonder--" began Mrs. Daggett eagerly. 

"Don't you get excited, Abby. She says she ain't; real pointed, too. But about this wall paper; I don't know as I can match up themstripes and figures. I wisht you'd go an' see her, Abby. She'll tellyou all about it. An' her scheme about collecting all the old Boltonfurniture is perfectly ridiculous. 'Twouldn't be worth shucks afterkickin' 'round folk's houses here in Brookville for the last fifteenyears or so. "

"But you can't never find her at home, Henry, " said Mrs. Daggett. "Ibeen to see her lots of times; but Mis' Solomon Black says she don'tstay in the house hardly long enough to eat her victuals. "

"Why don't you take the buggy, Abby, and drive out to the old place?"suggested Mr. Daggett. "Likely you'll find her there. She appears totake an interest in every nail that's drove. I can spare the horsethis afternoon just as well as not. "

"'Twould be pleasant, " purred Mrs. Daggett. "But, I suppose, byrights, I ought to take Lois along. "

"Nope, " disagreed her husband, shaking his head. "Don't you takeLois; she wouldn't talk confiding to Lois, the way she would to you. You've got a way with you, Abby. I'll bet you could coax a bird off abush as easy as pie, if you was a mind to. "

Mrs. Daggett's big body shook with soft laughter. She beamed rosilyon her husband. 

"How you do go on, Henry!" she protested. "But I ain't going to coaxLydia Orr off no bush she's set her heart on. She's got the sweetestface, papa; an' I know, without anybody telling me, whatever she doesor wants to do is _all_ right. "

Mr. Daggett had by now invested his portly person in a clean linencoat, bearing on its front the shining mark of Mrs. Daggett's carefuliron. 

"Same here, Abby, " he said kindly: "whatever you do, Abby, suits _me_all right. "

The worthy couple parted for the morning: Mr. Daggett for the sceneof his activities in the post office and store; Mrs. Daggett to sether house to rights and prepare for the noon meal, when her Henryliked to "eat hearty of good, nourishing victuals, " after his lightrepast of the morning. 

"Guess I'll wear my striped muslin, " said Mrs. Daggett to herselfhappily. "Ain't it lucky it's all clean an' fresh? 'Twill be so coolto wear out buggy-ridin'. "

Mrs. Daggett was always finding occasion for thus reminding herselfof her astonishing good fortune. She had formed the habit of talkingaloud to herself as she worked about the house and garden. 

"'Tain't near as lonesome, when you can hear the sound of a voice--ifit is only your own, " she apologized, when rebuked for the practiceby her friend Mrs. Maria Dodge. "Mebbe it does sound kind of crazy--You say lunatics does it constant--but, I don't know, Maria, I've akind of a notion there's them that hears, even if you can't see 'em. And mebbe they answer, too--in your thought-ear. "

"You want to be careful, Abby, " warned Mrs. Dodge, shaking her head. "It makes the chills go up and down my back to hear you talk likethat; and they don't allow no such doctrines in the church. "

"The Apostle Paul allowed 'em, " Mrs. Daggett pointed out, "so did thePsalmist. You read your Bible, Maria, with that in mind, and you'llsee. "

In the spacious, sunlighted chamber of her soul, devoted to thememory of her two daughters who had died in early childhood, Mrs. Daggett sometimes permitted herself to picture Nellie and Minnie, grown to angelic girlhood, and keeping her company about her lonelyhousehold tasks in the intervals not necessarily devoted to harpplaying in the Celestial City. She laughed softly to herself as shefilled two pies with sliced sour apples and dusted them plentifullywith spice and sugar. 

"I'd admire to see papa argufying with that sweet girl, " she observedto the surrounding silence. "Papa certainly is set on having his ownway. Guess bin' alone here with me so constant, he's got kind ofwillful. But it don't bother me any; ain't that lucky?"

She hurried her completed pies into the oven with a swiftness ofmovement she had never lost, her sweet, thin soprano soaring high inthe words of a winding old hymn tune:

 Lord, how we grovel here below, Fond of these trifling toys; Our souls can neither rise nor go To taste supernal joys! . .. 

It was nearly two o'clock before the big brown horse, indignant atthe unwonted invasion of his afternoon leisure, stepped slowly outfrom the Daggett barn. On the seat of the old-fashioned vehicle, towhich he had been attached by Mrs. Daggett's skillful hands, thatlady herself sat placidly erect, arrayed in her blue and whitestriped muslin. Mrs. Daggett conscientiously wore stripes at allseasons of the year: she had read somewhere that stripes impart tothe most rotund of figures an appearance of slimness totally atvariance with the facts. As for blue and white, her favoritecombination of stripes, any fabric in those colors looked cool andclean; and there was a vague strain of poetry in Mrs. Daggett'snature which made her lift her eyes to a blue sky filled withfloating white clouds with a sense of rapturous satisfaction whollyunrelated to the state of the weather. 

"G'long, Dolly!" she bade the reluctant animal, with a gentle slap ofleathern reins over a rotund back. "Git-ap!"

"Dolly, " who might have been called Cæsar, both by reason of his sexand a stubbornly dominant nature, now fortunately subdued by years ofchastening experience, strode slowly forward, his eyes rolling, hislarge hoofs stirring up heavy clouds of dust. There weresweet-smelling meadows stacked with newly-cured hay on either side ofthe road, and tufts of red clover blossoms exhaling delicious odorsof honey almost under his saturnine nose; but he trotted ponderouslyon, sullenly aware of the gentle hand on the reins and the mild, persistent voice which bade him "Git-ap, Dolly!"

Miss Lois Daggett, carrying a black silk bag, which contained aprospectus of the invaluable work which she was striving to introduceto an unappreciative public, halted the vehicle before it had reachedthe outskirts of the village. 

"Where you going, Abby?" she demanded, in the privileged tone ofauthority a wife should expect from her husband's female relatives. 

"Just out in the country a piece, Lois, " replied Mrs. Daggettevasively. 

"Well, I guess I'll git in and ride a ways with you, " said LoisDaggett. "Cramp your wheel, Abby, " she added sharply. "I don't wantto git my skirt all dust. "

Miss Daggett was wearing a black alpaca skirt and a white shirtwaist, profusely ornamented with what is known as coronation braid. Herhair, very tightly frizzed, projected from beneath the brim of herstraw hat on both sides. 

"I'm going out to see if I can catch that Orr girl this afternoon, "she explained, as she took a seat beside her sister-in-law. "Sheought to want a copy of Famous People--in the best binding, too. Iain't sold a leather-bound yit, not even in Grenoble. They come inred with gold lettering. You'd ought to have one, Abby, now thatHenry's gitting more business by the minute. I should think you mightafford one, if you ain't too stingy. "

"Mebbe we could, Lois, " said Mrs. Daggett amiably. "I've alwaysthought I'd like to know more about famous people: what they eat forbreakfast, and how they do their back hair and--"

"Don't be silly, Abby, " Miss Daggett bade her sharply. "There ain'tany such nonsense in Famous People! _I_ wouldn't be canvassing forit, if there was. " And she shifted her pointed nose to one side witha slight, genteel sniff. 

"Git-ap, Dolly!" murmured Mrs. Daggett, gently slapping the reins. 

Dolly responded by a single swift gesture of his tail which firmlylashed the hated reminder of bondage to his hind quarters. Thenwickedly pretending that he was not aware of what had happened hestrolled to the side of the road nearest the hay field. 

"Now, if he ain't gone and got his tail over the lines!" cried Mrs. Daggett indignantly. "He's got more resistin' strength in that tailof his'n--wonder if I can--"

She leaned over the dashboard and grasped the offending member withboth hands. 

"You hang onto the lines, Lois, and give 'em a good jerk the minute Iloosen up his tail. "

The subsequent failure of this attempt deflected the malicious Dollystill further from the path of duty. A wheel cramped and liftedperilously. 

Miss Daggett squealed shrilly:

"He'll tip the buggy over--he'll tip the buggy over! For pity's sake, Abby!"

Mrs. Daggett stepped briskly out of the vehicle and seized thebridle. 

"Ain't you ashamed?" she demanded sternly. "You loosen up that theretail o' yourn this minute!"

"I got 'em!" announced Miss Daggett, triumphantly. "He loosened rightup. "

She handed the recovered reins to her sister-in-law, and the twoladies resumed their journey and their conversation. 

"I never was so scared in all my life, " stated Lois Daggett, straightening her hat which had assumed a rakish angle over one ear. "I should think you'd be afraid to drive such a horse, Abby. What increation would have happened to you if I hadn't been in the buggy?"

"As like as not he wouldn't have took a notion with his tail, Lois, if I'd been driving him alone, " hazarded Mrs. Daggett mildly. "Dolly's an awful knowing horse. .. . Git-ap, Dolly!"

"Do you mean to tell me, Abby Daggett, that there horse of Henry'shas took a spite against _me?_" demanded the spinster. .. . "Mebbe he'sa mind-reader, " she added darkly. 

"You know I didn't mean nothin' like that, Lois, " her sister-in-lawassured her pacifically. "What I meant to say was: I got sointerested in what you were saying, Lois, that I handled the reinscareless, and he took advantage. .. . Git-ap, Dolly! Don't you see, Lois, even a horse knows the difference when two ladies is talking. "

"You'd ought to learn to say exactly what you mean, Abby, " commentedMiss Daggett. 

She glanced suspiciously at the fresh striped muslin, which wasfurther enhanced by a wide crocheted collar and a light blue satinbow. 

"Where'd you say you were goin' this afternoon, Abby?"

"I said out in the country a piece, Lois; it's such a niceafternoon. "

"Well, _I_ should think Henry'd be needing the horse for hisbusiness. I know _I'd_ never think of asking him for it--and me ablood relation, too, trying to earn my bread and butter trampingaround the country with Famous People. "

Mrs. Daggett, thus convicted of heartless selfishness, sighedvaguely. Henry's sister always made her feel vastly uncomfortable, even sinful. 

"You know, Lois, we'd be real glad to have you come and live with usconstant, " she said heroically. .. . "Git-ap, Dolly!"

Miss Daggett compressed her thin lips. 

"No; I'm too independent for that, Abby, an' you know it. If poorHenry was to be left a widower, I might consider living in his houseand doing for him; but you know, Abby, there's very few houses bigenough for two women. .. . And that r'minds me; did you know Miss Orrhas got a hired girl?"

"Has she?" inquired Mrs. Daggett, welcoming the change of subjectwith cordial interest. "A hired girl! . .. Git-ap, Dolly!"

"Yes, " confirmed Miss Daggett. "Lute Parsons was telling me she camein on th' noon train yesterday. She brought a trunk with her, and hercheck was from Boston. "

"Well, I want to know!" murmured Mrs. Daggett. "Boston's where _she_came from, ain't it? It'll be real pleasant for her to have somebodyfrom Boston right in the house. .. . G'long, Dolly!"

"I don't know why you should be so sure of that, Abby, " sniffed MissDaggett. "I should think a person from right here in Brookville wouldbe more company. How can a hired girl from Boston view the passin'and tell her who's goin' by? I think it's a ridiculous idea, myself. "

"I shouldn't wonder if it's somebody she knows, " surmised Mrs. Daggett. "'Twould be real pleasant for her to have a hired girlthat's mebbe worked for her folks. "

"I intend to ask her, if she comes to the door, " stated Lois Daggett. "You can drop me right at the gate; and if you ain't going too farwith your buggy-riding, Abby, you might stop and take me up a spelllater. It's pretty warm to walk far today. "

"Well, I was thinkin' mebbe I'd stop in there, too, Lois, " said Mrs. Daggett apologetically. "I ain't been to see Miss Orr for quite aspell, and--"

The spinster turned and fixed a scornfully, intelligent gaze upon themild, rosy countenance of her sister-in-law. 

"Oh, _I see!_" she sniffed. "That was where you was pointing for, allthe while! And you didn't let on to me, oh, no!"

"Now, Lois, don't you get excited, " exhorted Mrs. Daggett. "It wasjust about the wall papers. Henry, he says to me this mornin'--. .. Git-ap, Dolly!"

_"'Henry says--Henry says'!_ Yes; I guess so! What do you know aboutwall papers, Abby? . .. Well, all I got to say is: I don't want nobodylooking on an' interfering when I'm trying to sell 'Lives of FamousPeople. ' Folks, es a rule, ain't so interested in anything they gotto pay out money fer, an' I want a clear field. "

"I won't say a word till you're all through talkin', Lois, " promisedMrs. Daggett meekly. "Mebbe she'd kind of hate to say 'no' before me. She's took a real liking to Henry. .. . Git-ap, Dolly. .. . And anyway, she's awful generous. I could say, kind of careless; 'If I was you, I'd take a leather-bound. ' Couldn't I, Lois?"

"Well, you can come in, Abby, if you're so terrible anxious, "relented Miss Daggett. "You might tell her, you and Henry was goingto take a leather-bound; that might have some effect. I remember onceI sold three Famous People in a row in one street. There couldn't oneo' them women endure to think of her next door neighbor havingsomething she didn't have. "

"That's so, Lois, " beamed Mrs. Daggett. "The most of folks is aboutlike that. Why, I rec'lect once, Henry brought me up a red-handledbroom from th' store. My! it wa'n't no time b'fore he was cleanedright out of red-handled brooms. Nobody wanted 'em natural color, striped, or blue. Henry, he says to me, 'What did you do to advertisethem red-handled brooms, Abby?' 'Why, papa, ' says I, 'I swept off mystoop and the front walk a couple of times, that's all. ' 'Well, ' hesays, 'broom-handles is as catching as measles, if you only get 'emth' right color!' . .. Git-ap, Dolly!"

"Well, did you _ever!_" breathed Miss Daggett excitedly, leaning outof the buggy to gaze upon the scene of activity displayed on thefurther side of the freshly-pruned hedge which divided Miss LydiaOrr's property from the road: "Painters and carpenters and masons, all going at once! And ain't that Jim Dodge out there in the sideyard talking to her? 'Tis, as sure as I'm alive! I wonder what _he's_doing? Go right in, Abby!"

"I kind of hate to drive Dolly in on that fresh gravel, " hesitatedMrs. Daggett. "He's so heavy on his feet he'll muss it all up. MebbeI'd better hitch out in front. "

"She sees us, Abby; go on in!" commanded Miss Daggett masterfully. "Iguess when it comes to that, her gravel ain't any better than otherfolks' gravel. "

Thus urged, Mrs. Daggett guided the sulky brown horse between the bigstone gateposts and brought him to a standstill under the somewhatpretentious _porte-cochère_ of the Bolton house. 

Lydia Orr was beside the vehicle in a moment, her face bright withwelcoming smiles. 

"Dear Mrs. Daggett, " she said, "I'm so glad you've come. I've beenwanting to see you all day. I'm sure you can tell me--"

"You've met my husband's sister, Miss Lois Daggett, haven't you, MissOrr? She's the lady that made that beautiful drawn-in mat you boughtat the fair. "

Miss Orr shook hands cordially with the author of the drawn-in mat. 

"Come right in, " she said. "You'll want to see what we're doinginside, though nothing is finished yet. "

She led the way to a small room off the library, its long Frenchwindows opening on a balcony. 

"This room used to be a kind of a den, they tell me; so I've made itinto one, the first thing, you see. "

There was a rug on the floor, a chair or two and a high mahogany deskwhich gave the place a semblance of comfort amid the generalconfusion. Miss Lois Daggett gazed about with argus-eyed curiosity. 

"I don't know as I was ever in this room, when Andrew Bolton livedhere, " she observed, "but it looks real homelike now. "

"Poor man! I often think of him, " said kindly Mrs. Daggett. "'Twouldbe turrible to be shut away from the sunshine f'r even one year; butpoor Andrew Bolton's been closed up in State's prison fer--l' me see, it mus' be goin' on--"

"It's fifteen years, come fall, since he got his sentence, " statedthe spinster. "His time must be 'most up. "

Lydia Orr had seated herself in an old-fashioned chair, its tallcarved back turned to the open windows. 

"Did you--lose much in the bank failure, Miss Daggett?" she inquired, after a slight pause, during which the promoter of Famous People wasloosening the strings of her black silk bag. 

"About two hundred dollars I'd saved up, " replied Miss Daggett. "Bynow it would be a lot more--with the interest. "

"Yes, of course, " assented their hostess; "one should always think ofinterest in connection with savings. "

She appeared to be gazing rather attentively at the leather-boundprospectus Miss Daggett had withdrawn from her bag. 

"That looks like something interesting, Miss Daggett, " shevolunteered. 

"This volume I'm holdin' in my hand, " began that lady, professionally, "is one of the most remarkable works ever issued bythe press of any country. It is the life history of one thousand menand women of world-wide fame and reputation, in letters, art, science_an'_ public life. No library nor parlor table is complete withoutthis authoritative work of general information _an'_ reference. It isa com-plete library in itself, and--"

"What is the price of the work, Miss Daggett?" inquired Lydia Orr. 

"Just hold on a minute; I'm coming to that, " said Miss Daggettfirmly. "As I was telling you, this work is a complete library initself. A careful perusal of the specimen pages will convince themost skeptical. Turning to page four hundred and fifty-six, weread:--"

[Illustration: "Just hold on a minute; I'm coming to that, " said MissDaggett firmly. ]

"I'm sure I should like to buy the book, Miss Daggett. "

"You ain't th' only one, " said the agent. "Any person of even themost ordinary intelligence ought to own this work. Turning to pagefour hundred and fifty-six, we read: 'Snipeley, Samuel Bangs: lawyerligislator _an'_ author; born eighteen hundred fifty-nine, in thetown of--'"

At this moment the door was pushed noiselessly open, and a tall, spare woman of middle age stood upon the threshold bearing a tray inher hands. On the tray were set forth silver tea things, flanked bythin bread and butter and a generous pile of sponge cake. 

"You must be tired and thirsty after your drive, " said Lydia Orrhospitably. "You may set the tray here, Martha. "

The maid complied. 

"Of course I must have that book, Miss Daggett, " their hostess wenton. "You didn't mention the title, nor the price. Won't you have acup of tea, Mrs. Daggett?"

"That cup of tea looks real nice; but I'm afraid you've gone to a lotof trouble and put yourself out, " protested Mrs. Daggett, who had notventured to open her lips until then. What wonderful long words Loishad used; and how convincing had been her manner. Mrs. Daggett hadresolved that "Lives of Famous People, " in its best red leatherbinding, should adorn her own parlor table in the near future, if shecould persuade Henry to consent. 

"I think that book Lois is canvassing for is just lovely, " she addedartfully, as she helped herself to cake. "I'm awful anxious to ownone; just think, I'd never even heard of Snipeley Samuel Bangs--"

Lois Daggett crowed with laughter. 

"Fer pity sake, Abby! don't you know no better than that? It's SamuelBangs Snipeley; he was County Judge, the author of 'Platform Pearls, 'and was returned to legislature four times by his constituents, besides being--"

"Could you spare me five copies of the book, Miss Daggett?" inquiredLydia, handing her the sponge cake. 

"Five copies!"

Miss Daggett swiftly controlled her agitation. 

"I haven't told you the price, yet. You'd want one of themleather-bound, wouldn't you? They come high, but they wear real well, and I will say there's nothing handsomer for a parlor table. "

"I want them all leather-bound, " said Lydia, smiling. "I want one formyself, one for a library and the other three--"

"There's nothing neater for a Christmas or birthday present!"shrilled Lois Daggett joyously. "And so informing. "

She swallowed her tea in short, swift gulps; her faded eyes shone. Inwardly she was striving to compute the agent's profit on fiveleather-bound copies of Famous People. She almost said aloud "I canhave a new dress!"

"We've been thinking, " Lydia Orr said composedly, "that it might bepleasant to open a library and reading room in the village. What doyou think of the idea, Miss Daggett? You seem interested in books, and I thought possibly you might like to take charge of the work. "

"Who, me?-- Take charge of a library?"

Lois Daggett's eyes became on the instant watchful and suspicious. Lydia Orr had encountered that look before, on the faces of men andeven of boys. Everybody was afraid of being cheated, she thought. Wasthis just in Brookville, and because of the misdeeds of one man, solong ago?

"Of course we shall have to talk it over some other day, when we havemore time, " she said gently. 

"Wouldn't that be nice!" said Mrs. Daggett. "I was in a library once, over to Grenoble. Even school children were coming in constant to getbooks. But I never thought we could have one in Brookville. Wherecould we have it, my dear?"

"Yes; that's the trouble, " chimed in Lois. "There isn't any place fitfor anything like that in our town. "

Lydia glanced appealingly from one to the other of the two faces. Onemight have thought her irresolute--or even afraid of their verdict. 

"I had thought, " she said slowly, "of buying the old Bolton bankbuilding. It has not been used for anything, Judge Fulsom says, since--"

"No; it ain't, " acquiesced Mrs. Daggett soberly, "not since--"

She fell silent, thinking of the dreadful winter after the bankfailure, when scarlet fever raged among the impoverished homes. 

"There's been some talk, off and on, of opening a store there, "chimed in Lois Daggett, setting down her cup with a clash; "but Iguess nobody'd patronize it. Folks don't forget so easy. "

"But it's a good substantial building, " Lydia went on, her eyesresting on Mrs. Daggett's broad, rosy face, which still wore thatunwonted look of pain and sadness. "It seems a pity not to changethe--the associations. The library and reading room could be on thefirst floor; and on the second, perhaps, a town hall, where--"

"For the land sake!" ejaculated Lois Daggett; "you cer'nly have gotan imagination, Miss Orr. I haven't heard that town hall idea spokenof since Andrew Bolton's time. He was always talking about townimprovements; wanted a town hall and courses of lectures, and afountain playing in a park and a fire-engine, and the land knowswhat. He was a great hand to talk, Andrew Bolton was. And you see howhe turned out!"

"And mebbe he'd have done all those nice things for Brookville, Lois, if his speculations had turned out different, " said Mrs. Daggett, charitably. "I always thought Andrew Bolton _meant_ all right. Ofcourse he had to invest our savings; banks always do, Henry says. "

"I don't know anything about _investing_, and don't want to, either--not the kind he did, anyhow, " retorted Lois Daggett. 

She arose as she spoke, brushing the crumbs of sponge cake from herskirt. 

"I got to get that order right in, " she said: "five copies--or was itsix, you said?"

"I think I could use six, " murmured Lydia. 

"And all leather-bound! Well, now, I know you won't ever be sorry. It's one of those works any intelligent person would be proud toown. "

"I'm sure it is, " said the girl gently. 

She turned to Mrs. Daggett. 

"Can't you stay awhile longer? I--I should like--"

"Oh, I guess Abby'd better come right along with me, " put in Loisbriskly . .. "and that reminds me, do you want to pay something downon that order? As a general thing, where I take a big order--"

"Of course--I'd forgotten; I always prefer to pay in advance. "

The girl opened the tall desk and producing a roll of bills told offthe price of her order into Miss Daggett's hand. 

"I should think you'd be almost afraid to keep so much ready money byyou, with all those men workin' outside, " she commented. 

"They're all Brookville men, " said Lydia. "I have to have money topay them with. Besides, I have Martha. "

"You mean your hired girl, I suppose, " inferred Miss Daggett, rubbingher nose thoughtfully. 

"She isn't exactly--a servant, " hesitated Lydia. "We give the mentheir noon meal, " she added. "Martha helps me with that. "

"You give them their dinner! Well, I never! Did you hear that, Abby?She gives them their dinner. Didn't you know men-folks generallybring their noonings in a pail? Land! I don't know how you get heartyvictuals enough for all those men. Where do they eat?"

"In the new barn, " said Lydia, smiling. "We have a cook stove outthere. "

"Ain't that just lovely!" beamed Mrs. Daggett, squeezing the girl'sslim hand in both her own. "Most folks wouldn't go to the trouble ofdoing anything so nice. No wonder they're hustling. "

"Mebbe they won't hustle so fast toward the end of the job, " saidLois Daggett. "You'll find men-folks are always ready to takeadvantage of any kind of foolishness. Come, Abby; we must be going. You'll get those books in about two weeks, Miss Orr. A big ordertakes more time, I always tell people. "

"Thank you, Miss Daggett. But wouldn't you--if you are in a hurry, you know; Mr. Dodge is going to the village in the automobile; we'reexpecting some supplies for the house. He'll be glad to take you. "

"Who, Jim Dodge? You don't mean to tell me Jim Dodge can drive anauto! I never stepped foot inside of one of those contraptions. But Idon't know but I might's well die for a sheep as a lamb. "

Lois Daggett followed the girl from the room in a flutter of joyousexcitement. 

"You can come home when you get ready, Abby, " she said over hershoulder. "But you want to be careful driving that horse of yours; hemight cut up something scandalous if he was to meet an auto. "

Chapter X

Mrs. Daggett was sitting by the window gazing dreamily out, whenLydia returned after witnessing the triumphant departure of thepromoter of Famous People. 

"It kind of brings it all back to me, " said Mrs. Daggett, furtivelywiping her eyes. "It's going t' look pretty near's it used to. Only Iremember Mis' Bolton used to have a flower garden all along thatstone wall over there; she was awful fond of flowers. I remember Igave her some roots of pinies and iris out of our yard, and she gaveme a new kind of lilac bush--pink, it is, and sweet! My! you cansmell it a mile off when it's in blow. "

"Then you knew--the Bolton family?"

The girl's blue eyes widened wistfully as she asked the question. 

"Yes, indeed, my dear. And I want to tell you--just betwixtourselves--that Andrew Bolton was a real nice man; and don't you letfolks set you t' thinking he wa'n't. Now that you're going to liveright here in this house, my dear, seems to me it would be a lotpleasanter to know that those who were here before you were justgood, kind folks that had made a mistake. I was saying to Henry thismorning: 'I'm going to tell her some of the nice things folks hasseemed to forget about the Boltons. It won't do any harm, ' I said. 'And it'll be cheerfuller for her. ' Now this room we're sittingin--I remember lots of pleasant things about this room. 'Twashere--right at that desk--he gave us a check to fix up the church. Hewas always doing things like that. But folks don't seem to remember. "

"Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Daggett, for telling me, " murmuredLydia. "Indeed it will be--cheerfuller for me to know that AndrewBolton wasn't always--a thief. I've sometimes imagined him walkingabout these rooms. .. . One can't help it, you know, in an old houselike this. "

Mrs. Daggett nodded eagerly. Here was one to whom she might impartsome of the secret thoughts and imaginings which even Maria Dodgewould have called "outlandish":

"I know, " she said. "Sometimes I've wondered if--if mebbe folks don'tleave something or other after them--something you can't see nortouch; but you can sense it, just as plain, in your mind. But land! Idon't know as I'd ought to mention it; of course you know I don'tmean ghosts and like that. "

"You mean their--their thoughts, perhaps, " hesitated Lydia. "I can'tput it into words; but I know what you mean. "

Mrs. Daggett patted the girl's hand kindly. 

"I've come to talk to you about the wall papers, dearie; Henrythought mebbe you'd like to see me, seeing I don't forget so easy'ssome. This room was done in a real pretty striped paper in two shadesof buff. There's a little of it left behind that door. Mrs. Boltonwas a great hand to want things cheerful. She said it looked kind ofsunshiny, even on a dark day. Poor dear, it fell harder on her thanon anybody else when the crash came. She died the same week they tookhim to prison; and fer one, I was glad of it. "

Mrs. Daggett wiped her kind eyes. 

"Mebbe you'll think it's a terrible thing for me to say, " she addedhastily. "But she was such a delicate, soft-hearted sort of a woman:I couldn't help feelin' th' Lord spared her a deal of bitter sorrowby taking her away. My! It does bring it all back to me so--the houseand the yard, and all. We'd all got used to seeing it a ruin; andnow-- Whatever put it in your head, dearie, to want things put backjust as they were? Papa was telling me this morning you was all forrestoring the place. He thinks 'twould be more stylish and up-to-dateif you was to put new-style paper on the walls, and let him furnishit up for you with nice golden oak. Henry's got real good taste. You'd ought to see our sideboard he gave me Chris'mas, with a mirrorand all. "

Having thus discharged her wifely duty, as it appeared to her, Mrs. Daggett promptly turned her back upon it. 

"But you don't want any golden oak sideboards and like that in thishouse. Henry was telling me all about it, and how you were set ongetting back the old Bolton furniture. "

"Do you think I could?" asked the girl eagerly. "It was all soldabout here, wasn't it? And don't you think if I was willing to pay agreat deal for it people would--"

"'Course they would!" cried Mrs. Daggett, with cheerful assurance. "They'd be tickled half to death to get money for it. But, you see, dearie, it's a long time ago, and some folks have moved away, andthere's been two or three fires, and I suppose some are not ascareful as others; still--"

The smile faded on the girl's lips. 

"But I can get some of it back; don't you think I can? I--I've quiteset my heart on--restoring the house. I want it just as it used tobe. The old furniture would suit the house so much better; don't youthink it would?"

Mrs. Daggett clapped her plump hands excitedly. 

"I've just thought of a way!" she exclaimed. "And I'll bet it'llwork, too. You know Henry he keeps th' post office; an' 'mosteverybody for miles around comes after their mail to th' store. I'lltell him to put up a sign, right where everybody will see; somethinglike this: 'Miss Lydia Orr wants to buy the old furniture of theBolton house. ' And you might mention casual you'd pay good pricesfor it. 'Twas real good, solid furniture, I remember. .. . Come tothink of it, Mrs. Bolton collected quite a lot of it right 'roundhere. She was a city girl when she married Andrew Bolton, an' shetook a great interest in queer old things. She bought a big tallclock out of somebody's attic, and four-posted beds, the kind folksused to sleep in, an' outlandish old cracked china plates with sceneson 'em. I recollect I gave her a blue and white teapot, with an eagleon the side that belonged to my grandmother. She thought it wasperfectly elegant, and kept it full of rose-leaves and spice on theparlor mantelpiece. Land! I hadn't thought of that teapot for yearsand years. I don't know whatever became of it. "

The sound of planes and hammers filled the silence that followed. Lydia was standing by the tall carved chair, her eyes downcast. 

"I'm glad you thought of--that notice, " she said at last. "If Mr. Daggett will see to it for me--I'll stop at the office tomorrow. Andnow, if you have time, I'd so like you to go over the house with me. You can tell me about the wall papers and--"

Mrs. Daggett arose with cheerful alacrity. 

"I'd like nothing better, " she declared. "I ain't been in the housefor so long. Last time was the day of the auction; 'twas after theytook the little girl away, I remember. .. . Oh, didn't nobody tell you?There was one child--a real, nice little girl. I forget her name;Mrs. Bolton used to call her Baby and Darling and like that. She wasan awful pretty little girl, about as old as my Nellie. I've oftenwondered what became of her. Some of her relatives took her away, after her mother was buried. Poor little thing--her ma dead an' herpa shut up in prison--. .. Oh! yes; this was the parlor. .. . My! tothink how the years have gone by, and me as slim as a match then. Nowthat's what I call a handsome mantel; and ain't the marble kept realpretty? There was all-colored rugs and a waxed floor in here, and areal old-fashioned sofa in that corner and a mahogany table withcarved legs over here, and long lace curtains at the windows. I seethey've fixed the ceilings as good as new and scraped all the oldpaper off the walls. There used to be some sort of patterned paper inhere. I can't seem to think what color it was. "

"I found quite a fresh piece behind the door, " said Lydia. "See; I'veput all the good pieces from the different rooms together, and markedthem. I was wondering if Mr. Daggett could go to Boston for me? I'msure he could match the papers there. You could go, too, if you caredto. "

"To Boston!" exclaimed Mrs. Daggett; "me and Henry? Why, Miss Orr, what an idea! But Henry couldn't no more leave the post office--heain't never left it a day since he was appointed postmaster. My, no!'twouldn't do for Henry to take a trip clear to Boston. And me--I'mso busy I'd be like a fly trying t' get off sticky paper. .. . I dohate to see 'em struggle, myself. "

She followed the girl up the broad stair, once more safe and firm, talking steadily all the way. 

There were four large chambers, their windows framing lovely vistasof stream and wood and meadow, with the distant blue of the farhorizon melting into the summer sky. Mrs. Daggett stopped in themiddle of the wide hall and looked about her wonderingly. 

"Why, yes, " she said slowly. "You certainly did show good sense inbuying this old house. They don't build them this way now-a-days. That's what I said to Mrs. Deacon Whittle-- You know some folksthought you were kind of foolish not to buy Mrs. Solomon Black'shouse down in the village. But if you're going to live here allalone, dearie, ain't it going to be kind of lonesome--all these bigrooms for a little body like you?"

"Tell me about it, please, " begged Lydia. "I--I've been wonderingwhich room was his. "

"You mean Andrew Bolton's, I s'pose, " said Mrs. Daggett reluctantly. "But I hope you won't worry any over what folks tells you about theday he was taken away. My! seems as if 'twas yesterday. "

She moved softly into one of the spacious, sunny rooms and stoodlooking about her, as if her eyes beheld once more the tragedy longsince folded into the past. 

"I ain't going to tell you anything sad, " she said under her breath. "It's best forgot. This was their room; ain't it nice an' cheerful? Ilike a southwest room myself. And 'tain't a bit warm here, what withthe breeze sweeping in at the four big windows and smelling sweet ofclover an' locust blooms. And ain't it lucky them trees didn't getblown over last winter?"

She turned abruptly toward the girl. 

"Was you thinking of sleeping in this room, dearie? It used to haveblue and white paper on it, and white paint as fresh as milk. It'd benice and pleasant for a young lady, I should think. "

Lydia shook her head. 

"Not, " she said slowly, "if it was _his_ room. I think I'drather--which was the little girl's room? You said there was achild?"

"Now, I'm real sorry you feel that way, " sympathized Mrs. Daggett, "but I don't know as I blame you, the way folks talk. You'd thinkthey'd have forgot all about it by now, wouldn't you? But land! itdoes seem as if bad thoughts and mean thoughts, and like that, waspossessed to fasten right on to folks; and you can't seem to shake'em off, no more than them spiteful little stick-tights that get allover your clo'es. .. . This room right next belonged to their baby. Letme see; she must have been about three and a half or four years oldwhen they took her away. See, there's a door in between, so Mrs. Bolton could get to her quick in the night. I used to be that way, too, with my children. .. . You know we lost our two little girls thatsame winter, three and five, they were. But I know I wanted 'em rightwhere I could hear 'em if they asked for a drink of water, or likethat, in the night. Folks has a great notion now-a-days of puttingtheir babies off by themselves and letting them cry it out, as theysay. But I couldn't ever do that; and Mrs. Andrew Bolton she wa'n'tthat kind of a parent, either-- I don't know as they ought to becalled _mothers_. No, she was more like me--liked to tuck theblankets around her baby in the middle of th' night an' pat her downall warm and nice. I've often wondered what became of that poorlittle orphan child. We never heard. Like enough she died. Ishouldn't wonder. "

And Mrs. Daggett wiped the ready tears from her eyes. 

"But I guess you'll think I'm a real old Aunty Doleful, going on thisway, " she made haste to add. 

"There's plenty of folks in Brookville as 'll tell you how stuck-upan' stylish Mrs. Andrew Bolton was, always dressed in silk of anafternoon and driving out with a two-horse team, an' keeping twohired girls constant, besides a man to work in her flower garden andanother for the barn. But of course she supposed they were reallyrich and could afford it. _He_ never let on to _her_, after thingsbegun to go to pieces; and folks blamed her for it, afterwards. Herheart was weak, and he knew it, all along. And then I suppose hethought mebbe things would take a turn. .. . Yes; the paper in thisroom was white with little wreaths of pink roses tied up with blueribbons all over it. 'Twas furnished up real pretty with whitefurniture, and there was ruffled muslin curtains with dots on 'em atthe windows and over the bed; Mrs. Andrew Bolton certainly did fixthings up pretty, and to think you're going to have it just the sameway. Well, I will say you couldn't do any better. .. . But, land! ifthere isn't the sun going down behind the hill, and me way out here, with Henry's supper to get, and Dolly champing his bit impatient. There's one lucky thing, though; he'll travel good, going towardshome; he won't stop to get his tail over the lines, neither. "

An hour later, when the long summer twilight was deepening intogloom, Jim Dodge crossed the empty library and paused at the opendoor of the room beyond. The somber light from the two tall windowsfell upon the figure of the girl. She was sitting before AndrewBolton's desk, her head upon her folded arms. Something in thespiritless droop of her shoulders and the soft dishevelment of herfair hair suggested weariness--sleep, perhaps. But as the young manhesitated on the threshold the sound of a muffled sob escaped thequiet figure. He turned noiselessly and went away, sorry and ashamed, because unwittingly he had stumbled upon the clew he had long beenseeking. 

Chapter XI

"Beside this stone wall I want flowers, " Lydia was saying to herlandscape-gardener, as she persisted in calling Jim Dodge. "Hollyhocks and foxgloves and pinies--I shall never say peony inBrookville--and pansies, sweet williams, lads' love, iris andsweetbrier. Mrs. Daggett has promised to give me some roots. "

He avoided her eyes as she faced him in the bright glow of themorning sunlight. 

"Very well, Miss Orr, " he said, with cold respect. "You want a borderhere about four feet wide, filled with old-fashioned perennials. "

He had been diligent in his study of the books she had supplied himwith. 

"A herbaceous border of that sort in front of the stone wall willgive quite the latest effect in country-house decoration, " he went onprofessionally. "Ramblers of various colors might be planted at theback, and there should be a mixture of bulbs among the taller plantsto give color in early spring. "

She listened doubtfully. 

"I don't know about the ramblers, " she said. "Were thereramblers--twenty years ago? I want it as nearly as possible just asit was. Mrs. Daggett told me yesterday about the flower-border here. You--of course you don't remember the place at all; do you?"

He reddened slightly under her intent gaze. 

"Oh, I remember something about it, " he told her; "the garden was along time going down. There were flowers here a few years back; butthe grass and weeds got the better of them. "

"And do you--remember the Boltons?" she persisted. "I was sointerested in what Mrs. Daggett told me about the family yesterday. It seems strange to think no one has lived here since. And now thatI--it is to be my home, I can't help thinking about them. "

"You should have built a new house, " said Jim Dodge. "A new housewould have been better and cheaper, in the end. "

He thrust his spade deep, a sign that he considered the conversationat an end. 

"Tell one of the other men to dig this, " she objected. "I want tomake a list of the plants we need and get the order out. "

"I can do that tonight, Miss Orr, " he returned, going on with hisdigging. "The men are busy in the orchards this morning. "

"You want me to go away, " she inferred swiftly. 

He flung down his spade. 

"It is certainly up to me to obey orders, " he said. "Pardon me, if Iseem to have forgotten the fact. Shall we make the list now?"

Inwardly he was cursing himself for his stupidity. Perhaps he hadbeen mistaken the night before. His fancy had taken a swift leap inthe dark and landed--where? There was a sort of scornful honesty inJim Dodge's nature which despised all manner of shams and pettydeceits. His code also included a strict minding of his own business. He told himself rather sharply that he was a fool for suspecting thatLydia Orr was other than she had represented herself to be. She hadbeen crying the night before. What of that? Other girls cried overnight and smiled the next morning--his sister Fanny, for example. Itwas an inexplicable habit of women. His mother had once told him, rather vaguely, that it did her good to have a regular crying-spell. It relieved her nerves, she said, and sort of braced her up. .. . 

"Of course I didn't mean that, " Lydia was at some pains to explain, as the two walked toward the veranda where there were chairs and atable. 

She was looking fair and dainty in a gown of some thin white stuff, through which her neck and arms showed slenderly. 

"It's too warm to dig in the ground this morning, " she decided. "Andanyway, planning the work is far more important. "

"Than doing it?" he asked quizzically. "If we'd done nothing but planall this; why you see--"

He made a large gesture which included the carpenters at work on theroof, painters perilously poised on tall ladders and a half dozen menbusy spraying the renovated orchards. 

"I see, " she returned with a smile, "--now that you've so kindlypointed it out to me. "

He leveled a keen glance at her. It was impossible not to see herthis morning in the light of what he thought he had discovered thenight before. 

"I've done nothing but make plans all my life, " she went on gravely. "Ever since I can remember I've been thinking--thinking and planningwhat I should do when I grew up. It seemed such a long, longtime--being just a little girl, I mean, and not able to do what Iwished. But I kept on thinking and planning, and all the while I_was_ growing up; and then at last--it all happened as I wished. "

She appeared to wait for his question. But he remained silent, staring at the blue rim of distant hills. 

"You don't ask me--you don't seem to care what I was planning, " shesaid, her voice timid and uncertain. 

He glanced quickly at her. Something in her look stirred himcuriously. It did not occur to him that her appeal and his instantresponse to it were as old as the race. 

"I wish you would tell me, " he urged. "Tell me everything!"

She drew a deep breath, her eyes misty with dreams. 

"For a long time I taught school, " she went on, "but I couldn't saveenough that way. I never could have saved enough, even if I had livedon bread and water. I wanted--I needed a great deal of money, and Iwasn't clever nor particularly well educated. Sometimes I thought ifI could only marry a millionaire--"

He stared at her incredulously. 

"You don't mean that, " he said with some impatience. 

She sighed. 

"I'm telling you just what happened, " she reminded him. "It seemedthe only way to get what I wanted. I thought I shouldn't mind that, or--anything, if I could only have as much money as I needed. "

A sense of sudden violent anger flared up within him. Did the girlrealize what she was saying?

She glanced up at him. 

"I never meant to tell any one about that part of it, " she saidhurriedly. "And--it wasn't necessary, after all; I got the moneyanother way. "

He bit off the point of a pencil he had been sharpening withlaborious care. 

"I should probably never have had a chance to marry a millionaire, "she concluded reminiscently. "I'm not beautiful enough. "

With what abominable clearness she understood the game: themarriage-market; the buyer and the price. 

"I--didn't suppose you were like that, " he muttered, after whatseemed a long silence. 

She seemed faintly surprised. 

"Of course you don't know me, " she said quickly. "Does any man knowany woman, I wonder?"

"They think they do, " he stated doggedly; "and that amounts to thesame thing. "

His thoughts reverted for an uncomfortable instant to Wesley Elliotand Fanny. It was only too easy to see through Fanny. 

"Most of them are simple souls, and thank heaven for it!"

His tone was fervently censorious. 

She smiled understandingly. 

"Perhaps I ought to tell you further that a rich man--not amillionaire; but rich enough--actually did ask me to marry him, and Irefused. "

"H'mph!"

"But, " she added calmly, "I think I should have married him, if I hadnot had money left me first--before he asked me, I mean. I knew allalong that what I had determined to do, I could do best alone. "

He stared at her from under gathered brows. He still felt thatcurious mixture of shame and anger burning hotly within. 

"Just why are you telling me all this?" he demanded roughly. 

She returned his look quietly. 

"Because, " she said, "you have been trying to guess my secret for along time and you have succeeded; haven't you?"

He was speechless. 

"You have been wondering about me, all along. I could see that, ofcourse. I suppose everybody in Brookville has been wondering and--andtalking. I meant to be frank and open about it--to tell right out whoI was and what I came to do. But--somehow--I couldn't. .. . It didn'tseem possible, when everybody--you see I thought it all happened solong ago people would have forgotten. I supposed they would be justglad to get their money back. I meant to give it to them--all, everydollar of it. I didn't care if it took all I had. .. . And then--Iheard you last night when you crossed the library. I hoped--you wouldask me why--but you didn't. I thought, first, of telling Mrs. Daggett; she is a kind soul. I had to tell someone, because he iscoming home soon, and I may need--help. "

Her eyes were solemn, beseeching, compelling. 

His anger died suddenly, leaving only a sort of indignant pity forher unfriended youth. 

"You are--" he began, then stopped short. A painter was swiftlydescending his ladder, whistling as he came. 

"My name, " she said, without appearing to notice, "is Lydia OrrBolton. No one seems to remember--perhaps they didn't know mymother's name was Orr. My uncle took me away from here. I was only ababy. It seemed best to--"

"Where are they now?" he asked guardedly. 

The painter had disappeared behind the house. But he could hear heavysteps on the roof over their heads. 

"Both are dead, " she replied briefly. "No one knew my uncle had muchmoney; we lived quite simply and unpretentiously in South Boston. They never told me about the money; and all those years I was prayingfor it! Well, it came to me--in time. "

His eyes asked a pitying question. 

"Oh, yes, " she sighed. "I knew about father. They used to take me tovisit him in the prison. Of course I didn't understand, at first. Butgradually, as I grew older, I began to realize what had happened--tohim and to me. It was then I began to make plans. He would be free, sometime; he would need a home. Once he tried to escape, with someother men. A guard shot my father; he was in the prison-hospital along time. They let me see him then without bars between, becausethey were sure he would die. "

"For God's sake, " he interrupted hoarsely. "Was there no one--?"

She shook her head. 

"That was after my aunt died: I went alone. They watched me closelyat first; but afterward they were kinder. He used to talk abouthome--always about home. He meant this house, I found. It was then Imade up my mind to do anything to get the money. .. . You see I knew hecould never be happy here unless the old wrongs were righted first. Isaw I must do all that; and when, after my uncle's death, I foundthat I was rich--really rich, I came here as soon as I could. Therewasn't any time to lose. "

She fell silent, her eyes shining luminously under half closed lids. She seemed unconscious of his gaze riveted upon her face. It was asif a curtain had been drawn aside by her painful effort. He wasseeing her clearly now and without cloud of passion--in all herinnocence, her sadness, set sacredly apart from other women by thelong devotion of her thwarted youth. An immense compassion tookpossession of him. He could have fallen at her feet praying herforgiveness for his mean suspicions, his harsh judgment. 

The sound of hammers on the veranda roof above their heads appearedto rouse her. 

"Don't you think I ought to tell--everybody?" she asked hurriedly. 

He considered her question in silence for a moment. The bitternessagainst Andrew Bolton had grown and strengthened with the years intosomething rigid, inexorable. Since early boyhood he had grownaccustomed to the harsh, unrelenting criticisms, the brutal epithetsapplied to this man who had been trusted with money and haddefaulted. Even children, born long after the failure, reviled thename of the man who had made their hard lot harder. It had been thejuvenile custom to throw stones at the house he had lived in. Heremembered with fresh shame the impish glee with which, in companywith other boys of his own age, he had trampled the few survivingflowers and broken down the shrubs in the garden. The hatred ofBolton, like some malignant growth, had waxed monstrous from what itpreyed upon, ruining and distorting the simple kindly life of thevillage. She was waiting for his answer. 

"It would seem so much more honest, " she said in a tired voice. "Nowthey can only think me eccentric, foolishly extravagant, lavishlygenerous--when I am trying-- I didn't dare to ask Deacon Whittle orJudge Fulsom for a list of the creditors, so I paid a large sum--farmore than they would have asked--for the house. And since then I havebought the old bank building. I should like to make a library there. "

"Yes, I know, " he said huskily. 

"Then the furniture--I shall pay a great deal for that. I want thehouse to look just as it used to, when father comes home. You see hehad an additional sentence for trying to escape and for conspiracy;and since then his mind--he doesn't seem to remember everything. Sometimes he calls me Margaret. He thinks I am--mother. "

Her voice faltered a little. 

"You mustn't tell them, " he said vehemently. "You mustn't!"

He saw with terrible clearness what it would be like: the home-comingof the half-imbecile criminal, and the staring eyes, the pointingfingers of all Brookville leveled at him. She would be overborne bythe shame of it all--trampled like a flower in the mire. 

She seemed faintly disappointed. 

"But I would far rather tell, " she persisted. "I have had so much toconceal--all my life!"

She flung out her hands in a gesture of utter weariness. 

"I was never allowed to mention father to anyone, " she went on. "Myaunt was always pointing out what a terrible thing it would be forany one to find out--who I was. She didn't want me to know; but uncleinsisted. I think he was sorry for--father. .. . Oh, you don't knowwhat it is like to be in prison for years--to have all the manhoodsqueezed out of one, drop by drop! I think if it hadn't been for mehe would have died long ago. I used to pretend I was very gay andhappy when I went to see him. He wanted me to be like that. Itpleased him to think my life had not been clouded by what he calledhis _mistake_. .. . He didn't intend to wreck the bank, Mr. Dodge. Hethought he was going to make the village rich and prosperous. "

She leaned forward. "I have learned to smile during all these years. But now, I want to tell everybody--I long to be free from pretending!Can't you see?"

Something big and round in his throat hurt him so that he could notanswer at once. He clenched his hands, enraged by the futility of hispity for her. 

"Mrs. Daggett seems a kind soul, " she murmured. "She would be myfriend. I am sure of it. But--the others--"

She sighed. 

"I used to fancy how they would all come to the station to meethim--after I had paid everybody, I mean--how they would crowd abouthim and take his hand and tell him they were glad it was all over;then I would bring him home, and he would never even guess it hadstood desolate during all these years. He has forgotten so muchalready; but he remembers home--oh, quite perfectly. I went to seehim last week, and he spoke of the gardens and orchards. That is howI knew how to have things planted: he told me. "

He got hastily to his feet: her look, her voice--the useless smart ofit all was swiftly growing unbearable. 

"You must wait--I must think!" he said unsteadily. "You ought not tohave told me. "

"Do you think I should have told the minister, instead?" she askedrather piteously. "He has been very kind; but somehow--"

"What! Wesley Elliot?"

His face darkened. 

"Thank heaven you did not tell him! I am at least no--"

He checked himself with an effort. 

"See here, " he said: "You--you mustn't speak to any one of what youhave told me--not for the present, anyway. I want you to promise me. "

Her slight figure sagged wearily against the back of her chair. Shewas looking up at him like a child spent with an unavailing passionof grief. 

"I have promised that so many times, " she murmured: "I have concealedeverything so long--it will be easier for me. "

"It will be easier for you, " he agreed quickly; "and--perhaps better, on the whole. "

"But they will not know they are being paid--they won't understand--"

"That makes no difference, " he decided. "It would make them, perhaps, less contented to know where the money was coming from. Tell me, doesyour servant--this woman you brought from Boston; does she know?"

"You mean Martha? I--I'm not sure. She was a servant in my uncle'shome for years. She wanted to live with me, so I sent for her. Inever spoke to her about--father. She seems devoted to me. I havethought it would be necessary to tell her--before-- He is coming inSeptember. Everything will be finished by then. "

His eyes were fixed blankly on the hedge; something--a horse's ears, perhaps--was bobbing slowly up and down; a faint rattle of wheelscame to their ears. 

"Don't tell anyone, yet, " he urged, and stepped down from theveranda, his unseeing gaze still fixed upon the slow advance of thosebobbing ears. 

"Someone is coming, " she said. 

He glanced at her, marveling at the swift transition in her face. Amoment before she had been listless, sad, disheartened by hisapparent disapproval of her plans. Now all at once the cloud hadvanished; she was once more cheerful, calm, even smiling. 

She too had been looking and had at once recognized the four personsseated in the shabby old carryall which at that moment turned in atthe gate. 

"I am to have visitors, " she said tranquilly. 

His eyes reluctantly followed hers. There were four women in theapproaching vehicle. 

As on another occasion, the young man beat a swift retreat. 

Chapter XII

"I am sure I don't know what you'll think of us gadding about in themorning so, " began Mrs. Dix, as she caught sight of Lydia. 

Mrs. Dix was sitting in the back seat of the carryall with Mrs. Dodge. The two girls were in front. Lydia noticed mechanically thatboth were freshly gowned in white and that Fanny, who was driving, eyed her with haughty reserve from under the brim of her flower-ladenhat. Ellen Dix had turned her head to gaze after Jim Dodge'sretreating figure; her eyes returned to Lydia with an expression ofsulky reluctance. 

"I'm so glad to see you, " said Lydia. "Won't you come in?"

"I should like to, " said Mrs. Dodge. "Jim has been telling us aboutthe improvements, all along. "

"It certainly does look nice, " chimed in Mrs. Dix. "I wouldn't havebelieved it possible, in such a little time, too. Just cramp thatwheel a little more, Fanny. "

The two older women descended from the carryall and began lookingeagerly around. 

"Just see how nice the grass looks, " said Mrs. Dodge. "And theflowers! My! I didn't suppose Jim was that smart at fixing thingsup. .. . Aren't you going to get out, girls?"

The two girls still sat on the high front seat of the carryall; bothwere gazing at Lydia in her simple morning frock. There were noflowers on Lydia's Panama hat; nothing but a plain black band; but ithad an air of style and elegance. Fanny was wishing she had bought aplain hat without roses. Ellen tossed her dark head:

"I don't know, " she said. "You aren't going to stay long; are you, mother?"

"For pity sake, Ellen!" expostulated Mrs. Dodge briskly. "Of courseyou'll get out, and you, too, Fanny. The horse'll stand. "

"Please do!" entreated Lydia. 

Thus urged, the girls reluctantly descended. Neither was in the habitof concealing her feelings under the convenient cloak of societyobservance, and both were jealously suspicious of Lydia Orr. Fannyhad met her only the week before, walking with Wesley Elliot alongthe village street. And Mrs. Solomon Black had told Mrs. Fulsom, andMrs. Fulsom had told Mrs. Deacon Whittle, and Mrs. Whittle had toldanother woman, who had felt it to be her Christian duty (howeverunpleasant) to inform Fanny that the minister was "payin' attentionto Miss Orr. "

"Of course, " the woman had pointed out, "it wasn't to be wondered at, special, seeing the Orr girl had every chance in the world to catchhim--living right in the same house with him. " Then she had furtherstated her opinions of men in general for Fanny's benefit. Allpersons of the male sex, according to this woman, were easily putupon, deceived and otherwise led astray by artful young women fromthe city, who were represented as perpetually on the lookout for easymarks, like Wesley Elliot. 

"He ain't any different from other men, if he _is_ a minister, " saidshe with a comprehensive sniff. "They're all alike, as far as I canfind out: anybody that's a mind to soft-soap them and flatter theminto thinkin' they're something great can lead them right around bythe nose. And besides, _she's_ got _money!_"

Fanny had affected a haughty indifference to the doings of WesleyElliot, which did not for a moment deceive her keen-eyed informer. 

"Of course, anybody with eyes in their heads can see what's takenplace, " compassionated she, impaling the unfortunate Fanny on theprongs of her sympathy. "My! I was telling George only yesterday, Ithought it was a _perfect shame!_ and somebody ought to speak outreal plain to the minister. "

Whereat Fanny had been goaded into wishing the woman would mind herown business! She did wish everybody would leave her and her affairsalone! People had no right to talk! As for speaking to the minister;let any one dare--!

As for Ellen Dix, she had never quite forgiven Lydia for innocentlyacquiring the fox skin and she had by now almost persuaded herselfthat she was passionately in love with Jim Dodge. She had alwaysliked him--at least, she had not actively disliked him, as some ofthe other girls professed to do. She had found his satirical tongue, his keen eyes and his real or affected indifference to feminine wilespleasantly stimulating. There was some fun in talking to Jim Dodge. But of late she had not been afforded the opportunity. Fanny hadexplained to Ellen that Jim was working terribly hard, often risingat three and four in the morning to work on his own farm, and puttingin long days at the Bolton place. 

"She seems to have most of the men in Brookville doing for her, "Ellen had remarked coldly. 

Then the girls had exchanged cautious glances. 

"There's something awfully funny about her coming here, anyway, " saidEllen. "Everybody thinks it's queer. "

"I expect she had a reason, " said Fanny, avoiding Ellen's eyes. 

After which brief interchange of opinion they had twined their armsabout each other's waists and squeezed wordless understanding andsympathy. Henceforth, it was tacitly understood between the two girlsthat singly and collectively they did not "like" Lydia Orr. 

Lydia understood without further explanation that she was not to lookto her nearest neighbors for either friendship or the affection sheso deeply craved. Both Ellen and Fanny had passed the place every daysince its restoration began; but not once had either betrayed theslightest interest or curiosity in what was going on beyond thebarrier of the hedge. To be sure, Fanny had once stopped to speak toher brother; but when Lydia had hurried hopefully out to greet her itwas only to catch a glimpse of the girl's back as she walked quicklyaway. 

Jim Dodge had explained, with some awkwardness, that Fanny was in ahurry. .. . 

"Well, now, I'll tell you, Miss Orr, " Mrs. Dix was saying, as allfive women walked slowly toward the house. "I was talking with AbbyDaggett, and she was telling me about your wanting to get back theold furniture that used to be in the house. It seems Henry Daggetthas put up a notice in the post office; but so far, he says, not verymany pieces have been heard from. You know the men-folks generally goafter the mail, and men are slow; there's no denying that. As like asnot they haven't even mentioned seeing the notice to the folks athome. "

"That's so, " confirmed Mrs. Dodge, nodding her head. "I don't know asJim would ever tell us anything that happened from morning tillnight. We just have to pump things out of him; don't we, Fanny? He'dnever tell without we did. His father was just the same. "

Fanny looked annoyed, and Ellen squeezed her arm with an amusedgiggle. 

"I didn't know, mother, there was anything we wanted to know, particularly, " she said coldly. 

"Well, you know both of us have been real interested in the workhere, " protested Mrs. Dodge, wonderingly. "I remember you was askingJim only last night if Miss Orr was really going to--"

"I hope you'll like to see the house, " said Lydia, as if she had notheard; "of course, being here every day I don't notice the changes asyou might. "

"You aren't living here yet, are you?" asked Mrs. Dix. "I understoodMrs. Solomon Black to say you weren't going to leave her for awhileyet. "

"No; I shall be there nights and Sundays till everything is finishedhere, " said Lydia. "Mrs. Black makes me very comfortable. "

"Well, I think most of us ladies had ought to give you a vote ofthanks on account of feeding the men-folks, noons, " put in Mrs. Dodge. "It saves a lot of time not to have to look after adinner-pail. "

"Mother, " interrupted Fanny in a thin, sharp voice, quite unlike herown, "you know Jim always comes home to his dinner. "

"Well, what if he does; I was speaking for the rest of th' women, "said Mrs. Dodge. "I'm sure it's very kind of Miss Orr to think ofsuch a thing as cooking a hot dinner for all those hungry men. "

Mrs. Dodge had received a second check from the assignees that verymorning from the sale of the old bank building, and she wasproportionately cheerful and content. 

"Well; if this isn't handsome!" cried Mrs. Dix, pausing in the hallto look about her. "I declare I'd forgotten how it used to look. Thisis certainly better than having an old ruin standing here. But, ofcourse it brings back old days. "

She sighed, her dark, comely face clouding with sorrow. 

"You know, " she went on, turning confidentially to Lydia, "thatdreadful bank failure was the real cause of my poor husband's death. He never held up his head after that. They suspected at first he wasimplicated in the steal. But Mr. Dix wasn't anything like AndrewBolton. No; indeed! He wouldn't have taken a cent that belonged toanybody else--not if he was to die for it!"

"That's so, " confirmed Mrs. Dodge. "What Andrew Bolton got wasaltogether too good for him. Come right down to it, he wasn't nobetter than a murderer!"

And she nodded her head emphatically. 

Fanny and Ellen, who stood looking on, reddened impatiently at this:

"I'm sick and tired of hearing about Andrew Bolton, " complainedEllen. "I've heard nothing else since I can remember. It's a pity youbought this house, Miss Orr: I heard Mr. Elliot say it was likestirring up a horrid, muddy pool. Not very complimentary toBrookville; but then--"

"Don't you think people will--forget after a while?" asked Lydia, herblue eyes fixed appealingly on the two young faces. "I don't see whyeverybody should--"

"Well, if you'd fixed the house entirely different, " said Mrs. Dix. "But having it put back, just as it was, and wanting the oldfurniture and all--whatever put that into your head, my dear?"

"I heard it was handsome and old--I like old things. And, of course, it was--more in keeping to restore the house as it was, than to--"

"Well, I s'pose that's so, " conceded Mrs. Dodge, her quick dark eyesbusy with the renovated interior. "I'd sort of forgot how it did lookwhen the Boltons was livin' here. But speaking of furniture; I seeMrs. Judge Fulsom let you have the old sofa. I remember she got it atthe auction; she's kept it in her parlor ever since. "

"Yes, " said Lydia. "I was only too happy to give a hundred dollarsfor the sofa. It has been excellently preserved. "

"A hundred dollars!" echoed Mrs. Dix. "Well!"

Mrs. Dodge giggled excitedly, like a young girl. 

"A hundred dollars!" she repeated. "Well, I want to know!"

The two women exchanged swift glances. 

"You wouldn't want to buy any pieces that had been broke, I s'pose, "suggested Mrs. Dodge. 

"If they can be repaired, I certainly do, " replied Lydia. 

"Mother!" expostulated Fanny, in a low but urgent tone. "Ellen andI--we really ought to be going. "

The girl's face glowed with shamed crimson. She felt haughty andhumiliated and angry all at once. It was not to be borne. 

Mrs. Dix was not listening to Fanny Dodge. 

"I bid in the big, four-post mahogany bed at the auction, " she said, "and the bureau to match; an' I believe there are two or three chairsabout the house. "

"We've got a table, " chimed in Mrs. Dodge; "but one leg give away, an' I had it put up in the attic years ago. And Fanny's got a bed andbureau in her room that was painted white, with little pink flowerstied up with blue ribbons. Of course the paint is pretty well rubbedoff; but--"

"Oh, might I have that set?" cried Lydia, turning to Fanny. "Perhapsyou've grown fond of it and won't want to give it up. But I--I'd payalmost anything for it. And of course I shall want the mahogany, too. "

"Well, we didn't know, " explained Mrs. Dix, with dignity. "We gotthose pieces instead of the money we'd ought to have had from theestate. There was a big crowd at the auction, I remember; but nobodyreally wanted to pay anything for the old furniture. A good deal ofit had come out of folks' attics in the first place. "

"I shall be glad to pay three hundred dollars for the mahogany bedand bureau, " said Lydia. "And for the little white set--"

"I don't care to part with my furniture, " said Fanny Dodge, herpretty round chin uplifted. 

She was taller than Lydia, and appeared to be looking over her headwith an intent stare at the freshly papered wall beyond. 

"For pity sake!" exclaimed her mother sharply. "Why, Fanny, you couldbuy a brand new set, an' goodness knows what-all with the money. What's the matter with you?"

"I know just how Fanny feels about having her room changed, " put inEllen Dix, with a spirited glance at the common enemy. "There arethings that money can't buy, but some people don't seem to think so. "

Lydia's blue eyes had clouded swiftly. 

"If you'll come into the library, " she said, "we'll have somelemonade. It's so very warm I'm sure we are all thirsty. "

She did not speak of the furniture again, and after a little thevisitors rose to go. Mrs. Dodge lingered behind the others towhisper:

"I'm sure I don't know what got into my Fanny. Only the other day shewas wishing she might have her room done over, with new furniture andall. I'll try and coax her. "

But Lydia shook her head. 

"Please don't, " she said. "I want that furniture very much; but--Iknow there are things money can't buy. "

"Mebbe you wouldn't want it, if you was t' see it, " was Mrs. Dodge'shonest opinion. "It's all turned yellow, an' the pink flowers aremostly rubbed off. I remember it was real pretty when we first gotit. It used to belong to Mrs. Bolton's little girl. I don't know asanybody's told you, but they had a little girl. My! what an awfulthing for a child to grow up to! I've often thought of it. But mebbeshe didn't live to grow up. None of us ever heard. "

"Mother!" called Fanny, from the front seat of the carryall. "We'rewaiting for you. "

"In a minute, Fanny, " said Mrs. Dodge. .. . "Of course you can havethat table I spoke of, Miss Orr, and anything else I can find in theattic, or around. An' I was thinking if you was to come down to theLadies' Aid on Friday afternoon--it meets at Mrs. Mixter's this week, at two o'clock; you know where Mrs. Mixter lives, don't you? Well;anyway, Mrs. Solomon Black does, an' she generally comes. But I knowlots of the ladies has pieces of that furniture; and most of themwould be mighty glad to get rid of it. But they are like myFanny--kind of contrary, and backward about selling things. I'll talkto Fanny when we get home. Why, she don't any more want that oldpainted set--"

"Mother!" Fanny's sweet angry voice halted the rapid progress of hermother's speech for an instant. 

"I shouldn't wonder if the flies was bothering th' horse, " surmisedMrs. Dodge; "he does fidget an' stamp somethin' terrible when theflies gets after him; his tail ain't so long as some. .. . Well, I'lllet you know; and if you could drop around and see the table andall-- Yes, some day this week. Of course I'll have to buy newfurniture to put in their places; so will Mrs. Dix. But I will saythat mahogany bed is handsome; they've got it in their spare room, and there ain't a scratch on it. I can guarantee that. .. . Yes; Iguess the flies are bad today; looks like rain. Good-by!"

Lydia stood watching the carryall, as it moved away from under themilk-white pillars of the restored portico. Why did Fanny Dodge andEllen Dix dislike her, she wondered, and what could she do to wintheir friendship? Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by Martha, the taciturn maid. 

"I found this picture on the floor, Miss Lydia, " said Martha; "didyou drop it?"

Lydia glanced at the small, unmounted photograph. It was a fadedsnapshot of a picnic party under a big tree. Her eyes became at onceriveted upon the central figures of the little group; the pretty girlin the middle was Fanny Dodge; and behind her--yes, surely, that wasthe young clergyman, Wesley Elliot. Something in the attitude of theman and the coquettish upward tilt of the girl's face brought back toher mind a forgotten remark of Mrs. Solomon Black's. Lydia had failedto properly understand it, at the time. Mrs. Solomon Black was givento cryptic remarks, and Lydia's mind had been preoccupied by theincreasing difficulties which threatened the accomplishment of herpurpose:

"A person, coming into a town like Brookville to live, by rights hadought to have eyes in the backs of their heads, " Mrs. Black hadobserved. 

It was at breakfast time, Lydia now remembered, and the minister waslate, as frequently happened. 

"I thought like's not nobody would mention it to you, " Mrs. Black hadfurther elucidated. "Of course _he_ wouldn't say anything, men-folksare kind of sly and secret in their doings--even the best of 'em; andyou'll find it's so, as you travel along life's path-way. "

Mrs. Black had once written a piece of poetry and it had actuallybeen printed in the Grenoble _News_; since then she frequently madeuse of figures of speech. 

"A married woman and a widow can speak from experience, " she went on. "So I thought I'd just tell you: he's as good as engaged, already. "

"Do you mean Mr. Elliot?" asked Lydia incuriously. 

Mrs. Black nodded. 

"I thought you ought to know, " she said. 

Mr. Elliot had entered the room upon the heels of this warning, andLydia had promptly forgotten it. Now she paused for a swift review ofthe weeks which had already passed since her arrival. Mr. Elliot hadbeen unobtrusively kind and helpful from the first, she remembered. Later, he had been indefatigable in the matter of securing workmenfor the restoration of the old house, when she made it clear to himthat she did not want an architect and preferred to hire Brookvillemen exclusively. As seemed entirely natural, the minister had calledfrequently to inspect the progress of the work. Twice in their roundstogether they had come upon Jim Dodge; and although the clergyman wasaffable in his recognition and greeting, Lydia had been unpleasantlysurprised by the savage look on her landscape-gardener's face as hereturned the polite salutation. 

"Don't you like Mr. Elliot?" she had ventured to inquire, after thesecond disagreeable incident of the sort. 

Jim Dodge had treated her to one of his dark-browed, incisive glancesbefore replying. 

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question satisfactorily, Miss Orr, "was what he said. 

And Lydia, wondering, desisted from further question. 

"That middle one looks some like one of the young ladies that washere this morning, " observed Martha, with the privileged familiarityof an old servant. 

"She must have dropped it, " said Lydia, slowly. 

"The young ladies here in the country has very bad manners, "commented Martha, puckering her lips primly. "I wouldn't put myselfout for them, if I was you, mem. "

Lydia turned the picture over and gazed abstractedly at the threewords written there: "Lest we forget!" Beneath this pertinentquotation appeared the initials "W. E. "

"If it was for _me_ to say, " went on Martha, in an injured tone, "I'dnot be for feedin' up every man, woman and child that shows theirface inside the grounds. Why, they don't appreciate it no morethan--"

The woman's eloquent gesture appeared to include the blue-bottle flybuzzing noisily on the window-pane:

"Goodness gracious! if these flies ain't enough to drive a bodycrazy--what with the new paint and all. .. . "

Chapter XIII

Lydia laid the picture carefully away in a pigeonhole of her desk. She was still thinking soberly of the subtle web of prejudices, feelings and conditions into which she had obtruded her one fixedpurpose in life. But if Mr. Elliot had been as good as engaged toFanny Dodge, as Mrs. Solomon Black had been at some pains to imply, in what way had she (Lydia) interfered with the dénouement?

She shook her head at last over the intricacies of the imperfectlystated problem. The idea of coquetting with a man had never enteredLydia's fancy. Long since, in the chill spring of her girlhood, shehad understood her position in life as compared with that of othergirls. She must never marry. She must never fall in love, even. Theinflexible Puritan code of her uncle's wife had found readyacceptance in Lydia's nature. If not an active participant in herfather's crime, she still felt herself in a measure responsible forit. He had determined to grow rich and powerful for her sake. Morethan once, in the empty rambling talk which he poured forth in aturgid stream during their infrequent meetings, he had told her so, with extravagant phrase and gesture. And so, at last, she had come toshare his punishment in a hundred secret, unconfessed ways. She atescant food, slept on the hardest of beds, labored unceasingly, withthe great, impossible purpose of some day making things right: ofrestoring the money they--she no longer said _he_--had stolen; ofbuilding again the waste places desolated by the fire of his ambitionfor her. There had followed that other purpose, growing ever strongerwith the years, and deepening with the deepening stream of herwomanhood: her love, her vast, unavailing pity for the broken andaging man, who would some day be free. She came at length to the timewhen she saw clearly that he would never leave the prison alive, unless in some way she could contrive to keep open the cloggingsprings of hope and desire. She began deliberately and with purposeto call back memories of the past: the house in which he had lived, the gardens and orchards in which he once had taken pride, hisambitious projects for village improvement. 

"You shall have it all back, father!" she promised him, withpassionate resolve. "And it will only be a little while to wait, now. "

Thus encouraged, the prisoner's horizon widened, day by day. Heappeared, indeed, to almost forget the prison, so busy was he inrecalling trivial details and unimportant memories of events longsince past. He babbled incessantly of his old neighbors, calling themby name, and chuckling feebly as he told her of their foibles andpeculiarities. 

"But we must give them every cent of the money, father, " sheinsisted; "we must make everything right. "

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes, we'll fix it up somehow with the creditors, " hewould say. 

Then he would scowl and rub his shorn head with his tremulous oldhands. 

"What did they do with the house, Margaret?" he asked, over and over, a furtive gleam of anxiety in his eyes. "They didn't tear it down;did they?"

He waxed increasingly anxious on this point as the years of hisimprisonment dwindled at last to months. And then her dream hadunexpectedly come true. She had money--plenty of it--and nothingstood in the way. She could never forget the day she told him aboutthe house. Always she had tried to quiet him with vague promises andimagined descriptions of a place she had completely forgotten. 

"The house is ours, father, " she assured him, jubilantly. "And I amhaving it painted on the outside. "

"You are having it painted on the outside, Margaret? Was thatnecessary, already?"

"Yes, father. .. . But I am Lydia. Don't you remember? I am your littlegirl, grown up. "

"Yes, yes, of course. You are like your mother-- And you are havingthe house painted? Who's doing the job?"

She told him the man's name and he laughed rather immoderately. 

"He'll do you on the white lead, if you don't watch him, " he said. "Iknow Asa Todd. Talk about frauds-- You must be sure he puts honestlinseed oil in the paint. He won't, unless you watch him. "

"I'll see to it, father. "

"But whatever you do, don't let 'em into my room, " he went on, aftera frowning pause. 

"You mean your library, father? I'm having the ceiling whitened. It--it needed it. "

"I mean my bedroom, child. I won't have workmen pottering about inthere. "

"But you won't mind if they paint the woodwork, father? It--has grownquite yellow in places. "

"Nonsense, my dear! Why, I had all the paint upstairs gone over--letme see--"

And he fell into one of his heavy moods of introspection whichseemed, indeed, not far removed from torpor. 

When she had at last roused him with an animated description of thevegetable garden, he appeared to have forgotten his objections tohaving workmen enter his chamber. And Lydia was careful not to recallit to his mind. 

She was still sitting before his desk, ostensibly absorbed in therows of incomprehensible figures Deacon Whittle, as generalcontractor, had urged upon her attention, when Martha again partedthe heavy cloud of her thoughts. 

"The minister, come to see you again, " she announced, with a slightbut mordant emphasis on the ultimate word. 

"Yes, " said Lydia, rousing herself, with an effort. "Mr. Elliot, yousaid?"

"I s'pose that's his name, " conceded Martha ungraciously. "I set himin the dining room. It's about the only place with two chairs in it;an' I shan't have no time to make more lemonade, in case you wantedit, m'm. "

Chapter XIV

The Reverend Wesley Elliot, looking young, eager and pleasinglyworldly in a blue serge suit of unclerical cut, rose to greet her asshe entered. 

"I haven't been here in two or three days, " he began, as he took thehand she offered, "and I'm really astonished at the progress you'vebeen making. "

He still retained her hand, as he smiled down into her grave, preoccupied face. 

"What's the trouble with our little lady of Bolton House?" heinquired. "Any of the workmen on strike, or--"

She withdrew her hand with a faint smile. 

"Everything is going very well, I think, " she told him. 

He was still scrutinizing her with that air of intimate concern, which inspired most of the women of his flock to unburden themselvesof their manifold anxieties at his slightest word of encouragement. 

"It's a pretty heavy burden for you, " he said gravely. "You need someone to help you. I wonder if I couldn't shoulder a few of the grosserdetails?"

"You've already been most kind, " Lydia said evasively. "But now-- Oh, I think everything has been thought of. You know Mr. Whittle islooking after the work. "

He smiled, a glimmer of humorous understanding in his fine dark eyes. "Yes, I know, " he said. 

A silence fell between them. Lydia was one of those rare women who donot object to silence. It seemed to her that she had always livedalone with her ambitions, which could not be shared, and her bitterknowledge, which was never to be spoken of. But now she stirreduneasily in her chair, aware of the intent expression in his eyes. Her troubled thoughts reverted to the little picture which hadfluttered to the floor from somebody's keeping only an hour before. 

"I've had visitors this morning, " she told him, with purpose. 

"Ah! people are sure to be curious and interested, " he commented. 

"They were Mrs. Dodge and her daughter and Mrs. Dix and Ellen, " sheexplained. 

"That must have been pleasant, " he murmured perfunctorily. "Areyou--do you find yourself becoming at all interested in the peopleabout here? Of course it is easy to see you come to us from quiteanother world. "

She shook her head. 

"Oh, no, " she said quickly. "--If you mean that I am superior in anyway to the people of Brookville; I'm not, at all. I am really a veryordinary sort of a person. I've not been to college and--I've alwaysworked, harder than most, so that I've had little opportunityfor--culture. "

His smile broadened into a laugh of genuine amusement. 

"My dear Miss Orr, " he protested, "I had no idea of intimating--"

Her look of passionate sincerity halted his words of apology. 

"I am very much interested in the people here, " she declared. "Iwant--oh, so much--to be friends with them! I want it more thananything else in the world! If they would only like me. But--theydon't. "

"How can they help it?" he exclaimed. "Like you? They ought toworship you! They shall!"

She shook her head sadly. 

"No one can compel love, " she said. 

"Sometimes the love of one can atone for the indifference--even thehostility of the many, " he ventured. 

But she had not stooped to the particular, he perceived. Her thoughtswere ranging wide over an unknown country whither, for the moment, hecould not follow. He studied her abstracted face with its strangelyaloof expression, like that of a saint or a fanatic, with a faintrenewal of previous misgivings. 

"I am very much interested in Fanny Dodge, " she said abruptly. 

"In--Fanny Dodge?" he repeated. 

He became instantly angry with himself for the dismayed astonishmenthe had permitted to escape him, and increasingly so because of theuncontrollable tide of crimson which invaded his face. 

She was looking at him, with the calm, direct gaze which had morethan once puzzled him. 

"You know her very well, don't you?"

"Why, of course, Miss Dodge is--she is--er--one of our leading youngpeople, and naturally-- She plays our little organ in church andSunday School. Of course you've noticed. She is most usefuland--er--helpful. "

Lydia appeared to be considering his words with undue gravity. 

"But I didn't come here this morning to talk to you about anotherwoman, " he said, with undeniable hardihood. "I want to talk toyou--_to you_--and what I have to say--"

Lydia got up from her chair rather suddenly. 

"Please excuse me a moment, " she said, quite as if he had not spoken. 

He heard her cross the hall swiftly. In a moment she had returned. 

"I found this picture on the floor--after they had gone, " she said, and handed him the photograph. 

He stared at it with unfeigned astonishment. 

"Oh, yes, " he murmured. "Well--?"

"Turn it over, " she urged, somewhat breathlessly. 

He obeyed, and bit his lip angrily. 

"What of it?" he demanded. "A quotation from Kipling's Recessional--amere commonplace. .. . Yes; I wrote it. "

Then his anger suddenly left him. His mind had leaped to the solutionof the matter, and the solution appeared to Wesley Elliot aseminently satisfying; it was even amusing. What a transparent, womanly little creature she was, to be sure! He had not beenaltogether certain of himself as he walked out to the old Boltonplace that morning. But oddly enough, this girlish jealousy of hers, this pretty spite--he found it piquantly charming. 

"I wrote it, " he repeated, his indulgent understanding of her moodlurking in smiling lips and eyes, "on the occasion of a particularlygrubby Sunday School picnic: I assure you I shall not soon forget thespiders which came to an untimely end in my lemonade, nor theinquisitive ants which explored my sandwiches. "

She surveyed him unsmilingly. 

"But you did not mean that, " she said. "You were thinking ofsomething--quite different. "

He frowned thoughtfully. Decidedly, this matter should be settledbetween them at once and for ever. A clergyman, he reflected, mustalways be on friendly--even confidential terms with a wide variety ofwomen. His brief experience had already taught him this much. And ajealous or unduly suspicious wife might prove a serious handicap tofuture success. 

"Won't you sit down, " he urged. "I--You must allow me to explain. We--er--must talk this over. "

She obeyed him mechanically. All at once she was excessivelyfrightened at what she had attempted. She knew nothing of the ways ofmen; but she felt suddenly sure that he would resent her interferenceas an unwarrantable impertinence. 

"I thought--if you were going there today--you might take it--toher, " she hesitated. "Or, I could send it. It is a small matter, ofcourse. "

"I think, " he said gravely, "that it is a very serious matter. "

She interpreted uncertainly the intent gaze of his beautiful, sombereyes. 

"I came here, " she faltered, "to--to find a home. I had no wish--"

"I understand, " he said, his voice deep and sympathetic; "people havebeen talking to you--about me. Am I right?"

She was silent, a pink flush slowly staining her cheeks. 

"You have not yet learned upon what slight premises country women, ofthe type we find in Brookville, arrive at the most unwarrantableconclusions, " he went on carefully. "I did not myself sufficientlyrealize this, at first. I may have been unwise. "

"No, you were not!" she contradicted him unexpectedly. 

His lifted eyebrows expressed surprise. 

"I wish you would explain to me--" he began. 

Then stopped short. How indeed could she explain, when as yet he hadnot made clear to her his own purpose, which had grown steadily withthe passing weeks?

"You will let me speak, first, " he concluded inadequately. 

He hastily reviewed the various phrases which arose to his lips andrejected them one by one. There was some peculiar quality ofcoldness, of reserve--he could not altogether make it clear tohimself: it might well be the knowledge of her power, her wealth, which lent that almost austere expression to her face. It was evidentthat her wonted composure had been seriously disturbed by the unluckycircumstance of the photograph. He had permitted the time andoccasion which had prompted him to write those three fatefullyfamiliar words on the back of the picture altogether to escape him. If he chose to forget, why should Fanny Dodge, or any one else, persist in remembering?

And above all, why should the girl have chosen to drop this absurdmemento of the most harmless of flirtations at the feet of Lydia?There could be but one reasonable explanation. .. . Confound women, anyway!

"I had not meant to speak, yet, " he went on, out of the clamoringmultitude of his thoughts. "I felt that we ought--"

He became suddenly aware of Lydia's eyes. There was no soft answeringfire, no maidenly uncertainty of hope and fear in those clear depths. 

"It is very difficult for me to talk of this to you, " she saidslowly. "You will think me over-bold--unmannerly, perhaps. But Ican't help that. I should never have thought of your caring forme--you will at least do me the justice to believe that. "

"Lydia!" he interrupted, poignantly distressed by her evidenttimidity--her exquisite hesitation, "let me speak! I understand--Iknow--"

She forbade him with a gesture, at once pleading and peremptory. 

"No, " she said. "No! I began this, I must go on to the end. What youought to understand is this: I am not like other women. I want onlyfriendship from every one. I shall never ask more. I can never acceptmore--from any one. I want you to know this--now. "

"But I--do you realize--"

"I want your friendship, " she went on, facing him with a sort ofdesperate courage; "but more than any kindness you can offer me, Mr. Elliot, I want the friendship of Fanny Dodge, of Ellen Dix--of allgood women. I need it! Now you know why I showed you the picture. Ifyou will not give it to her, I shall. I want her--I want everyone--to understand that I shall never come between her and theslightest hope she may have cherished before my coming to Brookville. All I ask is--leave to live here quietly--and be friendly, asopportunity offers. "

Her words, her tone were not to be mistaken. But even the sanest andwisest of men has never thus easily surrendered the jealously guardedstronghold of sex. Wesley Elliot's youthful ideas of women weretotally at variance with the disconcerting conviction which strove toinvade his mind. He had experienced not the slightest difficulty, upto the present moment, in classifying them, neatly and logically; butthere was no space in his mental files for a woman such as Lydia Orrwas representing herself to be. It was inconceivable, on the face ofit! All women demanded admiration, courtship, love. They always had;they always would. The literature of the ages attested it. He hadbeen too precipitate--too hasty. He must give her time to recoverfrom the shock she must have experienced from hearing the spitefulgossip about himself and Fanny Dodge. On the whole, he admired hercourage. What she had said could not be attributed to the merepromptings of vulgar sex-jealousy. Very likely Fanny had beendisagreeable and haughty in her manner. He believed her capable ofit. He sympathized with Fanny; with the curious mental aptitude of asensitive nature, he still loved Fanny. It had cost him real effortto close the doors of his heart against her. 

"I admire you more than I can express for what you have had thecourage to tell me, " he assured her. "And you will let me see that Iunderstand--more than you think. "

"It is impossible that you should understand, " she said tranquilly. "But you will, at least, remember what I have said?"

"I will, " he promised easily. "I shall never forget it!"

A slight humorous smile curved the corners of his handsome mouth. 

"Now this--er--what shall we call it?--'bone of contention' savorstoo strongly of wrath and discomfiture; so we'll say, simply andspecifically, this photograph--which chances to have a harmlessquotation inscribed upon its reverse: Suppose I drop it in thewaste-basket? I can conceive that it possesses no particularsignificance or value for any one. I assure you most earnestly thatit does not--for me. "

He made as though he would have carelessly torn the picture across, preparatory to making good his proposal. 

She stopped him with a swift gesture. 

"Give it to me, " she said. "It is lost property, and I am responsiblefor its safe-keeping. "

She perceived that she had completely failed in her intention. 

"What are you going to do with it?" he inquired, with an easyassumption of friendliness calculated to put her more completely ather ease with him. 

"I don't know. For the present, I shall put it back in my desk. "

"Better take my advice and destroy it, " he persisted. "It--er--is notvaluable evidence. Or--I believe on second thought I shall acceptyour suggestion and return it myself to its probable owner. "

He was actually laughing, his eyes brimming with boyish mischief. 

"I think it belongs to Miss Dix, " he told her audaciously. 

"To Miss Dix?" she echoed. 

"Yes; why not? Don't you see the fair Ellen among the group?"

Her eyes blazed suddenly upon him; her lips trembled. 

"Forgive me!" he cried, aghast at his own folly. 

She retreated before his outstretched hands. 

"I didn't mean to--to make light of what appears so serious a matterto you, " he went on impetuously. "It is only that it is _not_serious; don't you see? It is such a foolish little mistake. It mustnot come between us, Lydia!"

"Please go away, at once, " she interrupted him breathlessly, "and--and _think_ of what I have said to you. Perhaps you didn'tbelieve it; but you _must_ believe it!"

Then, because he did not stir, but instead stood gazing at her, hispuzzled eyes full of questions, entreaties, denials, she quietlyclosed a door between them. A moment later he heard her hurrying feetupon the stair. 

Chapter XV

August was a month of drought and intense heat that year; by thefirst week in September the stream had dwindled to the merest silverthread, its wasted waters floating upward in clouds of impalpablemist at dawn and evening to be lost forever in the empty vault ofheaven. Behind the closed shutters of the village houses, womenfanned themselves in the intervals of labor over superheatedcookstoves. Men consulted their thermometers with incredulous eyes. Springs reputed to be unfailing gradually ceased their cool trickle. Wells and cisterns yielded little save the hollow sound of thequesting bucket. There was serious talk of a water famine inBrookville. At the old Bolton house, however, there was still waterin abundance. In jubilant defiance of blazing heavens and parchingearth the Red-Fox Spring--tapped years before by Andrew Bolton andpiped a mile or more down the mountain side, that his household, garden and stock might never lack of pure cold water--gushed inundiminished volume, filling and overflowing the new cementreservoir, which had been one of Lydia Orr's cautious innovations inthe old order of things. 

The repairs on the house were by now finished, and the new-oldmansion, shining white amid the chastened luxuriance of ancienttrees, once more showed glimpses of snowy curtains behind polishedwindowpanes. Flowers, in a lavish prodigality of bloom the Boltonhouse of the past had never known, flanked the old stone walls, bordered the drives, climbed high on trellises and arbors, and blazedin serried ranks beyond the broad sweep of velvet turf, which repaidin emerald freshness its daily share of the friendly water. 

Mrs. Abby Daggett gazed at the scene in rapt admiration through theclouds of dust which uprose from under Dolly's scuffling feet. 

"Ain't that place han'some, now she's fixed it up?" she demanded ofMrs. Deacon Whittle, who sat bolt upright at her side, her bestsummer hat, sparsely decorated with purple flowers, protected fromthe suffocating clouds of dust by a voluminous brown veil. "I declareI'd like to stop in and see the house, now it's all furnished up--ifonly for a minute. "

"We ain't got time, Abby, " Mrs. Whittle pointed out. "There's work tocut out after we get to Mis' Dix's, and it was kind of late when westarted. "

Mrs. Daggett relinquished her random desire with her accustomedamiability. Life consisted mainly in giving up things, she had found;but being cheerful, withal, served to cast a mellow glow over theseverest denials; in fact, it often turned them into somethingunexpectedly rare and beautiful. 

"I guess that's so, Ann, " she agreed. "Dolly got kind of fractiousover his headstall when I was harnessin'. He don't seem to like hissun hat, and I dunno's I blame him. I guess if our ears stuck upthrough the top of our bunnits like his we wouldn't like it neither. "

Mrs. Whittle surveyed the animal's grotesquely bonneted head withcold disfavor. 

"What simple ideas you do get into your mind, Abby, " said she, withthe air of one conscious of superior intellect. "A horse ain't human, Abby. He ain't no idea he's wearing a hat. .. . The Deacon says theirheads get hotter with them rediculous bunnits on. He favors a greenbranch. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Daggett, foiling a suspicious movement of Dolly'sswitching tail, "mebbe that's so; I feel some cooler without a hat. But 'tain't safe to let the sun beat right down, the way it does, without something between. Then, you see, Henry's got a lot o' thesehorse hats in the store to sell. So of course Dolly, he has to wearone. "

Mrs. Whittle cautiously wiped the dust from her hard red cheeks. 

"My! if it ain't hot, " she observed. "You're so fleshy, Abby, Ishould think you'd feel it something terrible. "

"Oh, I don't know, " said Mrs. Daggett placidly. "Of course I'mfleshy, Ann; I ain't denying that; but so be you. You don't want tothink about the heat so constant, Ann. Our thermometer fell down andgot broke day before yesterday, and Henry says 'I'll bring you upanother from the store this noon. ' But he forgot all about it. Ididn't say a word, and that afternoon I set out on the porch underthe vines and felt real cool--not knowing it was so hot--when alongcomes Mrs. Fulsom, a-pantin' and fannin' herself. 'Good land, Abby!'says she; 'by the looks, a body'd think you didn't know thethermometer had risen to ninety-two since eleven o'clock thismorning. ' 'I didn't, ' I says placid; 'our thermometer's broke. ''Well, you'd better get another right off, ' says she, wiping her faceand groaning. 'It's an awful thing, weather like this, not to have athermometer right where you can see it. ' Henry brought a real niceone home from the store that very night; and I hung it out of sightbehind the sitting room door; I told Henry I thought 'twould be saferthere. "

"That sounds exactly like you, Abby, " commented Mrs. Whittlecensoriously. "I should think Henry Daggett would be onto you, bynow. "

"Well, he ain't, " said Mrs. Daggett, with mild triumph. "He thinksI'm real cute, an' like that. It does beat all, don't it? how simplemenfolks are. I like 'em all the better for it, myself. If Henry'dbeen as smart an' penetrating as some folks, I don't know as we'dhave made out so well together. Ain't it lucky for me he ain't?"

Ann Whittle sniffed suspiciously. She never felt quite sure of AbbyDaggett: there was a lurking sparkle in her demure blue eyes and asuspicious dimple near the corner of her mouth which ruffled Mrs. Whittle's temper, already strained to the breaking point by the heatand dust of their midday journey. 

"Well, I never should have thought of such a thing, as going toLadies' Aid in all this heat, if you hadn't come after me, Abby, " shesaid crossly. "I guess flannel petticoats for the heathen could havewaited a spell. "

"Mebbe they could, Ann, " Mrs. Daggett said soothingly. "It's kind ofhard to imagine a heathen wanting any sort of a petticoat thisweather, and I guess they don't wear 'em before they're converted;but of course the missionaries try to teach 'em better. They goforth, so to say, with the Bible in one hand and a petticoat in theother. "

"I should hope so!" said Mrs. Whittle, with vague fervor. 

The sight of a toiling wagon supporting a huge barrel caused her tochange the subject rather abruptly. 

"That's Jacob Merrill's team, " she said, craning her neck. "What onearth has he got in that hogs-head?"

"He's headed for Lydia Orr's spring, I shouldn't wonder, " surmisedMrs. Daggett. "She told Henry to put up a notice in the post officethat folks could get all the water they wanted from her spring. It'srunning, same as usual; but, most everybody else's has dried up. "

"I think the minister ought to pray for rain regular from the pulpiton Sunday, " Mrs. Whittle advanced. "I'm going to tell him so. "

"She's going to do a lot better than that, " said Mrs. Daggett. .. . "For the land sake, Dolly! I ain't urged you beyond your strength, and you know it; but if you don't g'long--"

A vigorous slap of the reins conveyed Mrs. Daggett's unuttered threatto the reluctant animal, with the result that both ladies weresuddenly jerked backward by an unlooked for burst of speed. 

"I think that horse is dangerous, Abby, " remonstrated Mrs. Whittle, indignantly, as she settled her veil. "You ought to be more carefulhow you speak up to him. "

"I'll risk him!" said Mrs. Daggett with spirit. "It don't help himnone to stop walking altogether and stand stock still in the middleof the road, like he was a graven image. I'll take the whip to him, if he don't look out!"

Mrs. Whittle gathered her skirts about her, with an apprehensiveglance at the dusty road. 

"If you das' to touch that whip, Abby Daggett, " said she, "I'll gitright out o' this buggy and walk, so there!"

Mrs. Daggett's broad bosom shook with merriment. 

"Fer pity sake, Ann, don't be scared, " she exhorted her friend. "Iain't never touched Dolly with the whip; but he knows I mean what Isay when I speak to him like that! . .. I started in to tell you aboutthe Red-Fox Spring, didn't I?"

Mrs. Whittle coughed dryly. 

"I wish I had a drink of it right now, " she said. "The idea of thatOrr girl watering her flowers and grass, when everybody else in townis pretty near burnt up. Why, we ain't had water enough in ourcistern to do the regular wash fer two weeks. I said to Joe and theDeacon today: 'You can wear them shirts another day, for I don't knowwhere on earth you'll get clean ones. '"

"There ain't nothing selfish about Lydia Orr, " proclaimed Mrs. Daggett joyfully. "What _do_ you think she's going to do now?"

"How should I know?"

Mrs. Whittle's tone implied a jaded indifference to the doings of anyone outside of her own immediate family circle. 

"She's going to have the Red-Fox piped down to the village, " saidMrs. Daggett. "She's had a man from Boston to look at it; and he saysthere's water enough up there in the mountains to supply two or threetowns the size of Brookville. She's going to have a reservoir: andanybody that's a mind to can pipe it right into their kitchens. "

Mrs. Whittle turned her veiled head to stare incredulously at hercompanion. 

"Well, I declare!" she said; "that girl certainly does like to make ashow of her money; don't she? If 'tain't one thing it's another. Howdid a girl like her come by all that money, I'd like to know?"

"I don't see as that's any of our particular affairs, " objected Mrs. Daggett warmly. "Think of havin' nice cool spring water, just byturning a faucet. We're going to have it in our house. And Henry saysmebbe he'll put in a tap and a drain-pipe upstairs. It'd save a loto' steps. "

"Huh! like enough you'll be talkin' about a regular nickel-platedbathroom like hers, next, " suspicioned Mrs. Whittle. "The Deacon sayshe did his best to talk her out of it; but she stuck right to it. Andone wa'n't enough, at that. She's got three of 'em in that house. That's worse'n Andrew Bolton. "

"Do you mean _worse_, Ann Whittle, or do you mean _better?_ A nicewhite bathtub is a means o' grace, I think!"

"I mean what I said, Abby; and you hadn't ought to talk like that. It's downright sinful. _Means o' grace! a bathtub!_ Well, I never!"

The ladies of the Aid Society were already convened in Mrs. Dix'sfront parlor, a large square room, filled with the cool green lightfrom a yard full of trees, whose deep-thrust roots defied thedrought. Ellen Dix had just brought in a glass pitcher, its frostedsides proclaiming its cool contents, when the late comers arrived. 

"Yes, " Mrs. Dix was saying, "Miss Orr sent over a big piece of icethis morning and she squeezed out juice of I don't know how manylemons. Jim Dodge brought 'em here in the auto; and she told him togo around and gather up all the ladies that didn't have conveyancesof their own. "

"And that's how I came to be here, " said Mrs. Mixter. "Our horse hasgone lame. "

"Well now, wa'n't that lovely?" crowed Mrs. Daggett, cooling herflushed face with slow sweeps of the big turkey-feather fan Mrs. Dixhanded her. "Ain't she just the sweetest girl--always thinking ofother folks! I never see anything like her. "

A subtle expression of reserve crept over the faces of the attentivewomen. Mrs. Mixter tasted the contents of her glass critically. 

"I don't know, " she said dryly, as if the lemonade had failed to coolher parched throat, "that depends on how you look at it. "

Mrs. Whittle gave vent to a cackle of rather discordant laughter. 

"That's just what I was telling Abby on the way over, " she said. "Once in a while you do run across a person that's bound to make ashow of their money. "

Mrs. Solomon Black, in a green and white sprigged muslin dress, herwater-waves unusually crisp and conspicuous, bit off a length ofthread with a meditative air. 

"Well, " said she, "that girl lived in my house, off an' on, for morethan two months. I can't say as I think she's the kind that wants toshow off. "

Fifteen needles paused in their busy activities, and twice as manyeyes were focused upon Mrs. Solomon Black. That lady sustained thecombined attack with studied calm. She even smiled, as she jerked herthread smartly through a breadth of red flannel. 

"I s'pose you knew a lot more about her in the beginning than wedid, " said Mrs. Dodge, in a slightly offended tone. 

"You must have known something about her, Phoebe, " put in Mrs. Fulsom. "I don't care what anybody says to the contrary, there'ssomething queer in a young girl, like her, coming to a strange place, like Brookville, and doing all the things she's done. It ain'tnatural: and that's what I told the Judge when he was considering thenew waterworks. There's a great deal of money to be made onwaterworks, the Judge says. "

The eyes were now focused upon Mrs. Fulsom. 

"Well, I can tell you, she ain't looking to make money out ofBrookville, " said Abby Daggett, laying down her fan and taking anunfinished red flannel petticoat from the basket on the table. "Henryknows all about her plans, and he says it's the grandest idea! Thewater's going to be piped down from the mountain right to ourdoors--an' it'll be just as free as the Water of Life to anybodythat'll take it. "

"Yes; but who's going to pay for digging up the streets and putting'em back?" piped up an anxious voice from a corner. 

"We'd ought to, if she does the rest, " said Mrs. Daggett; "but Henrysays--"

"You can be mighty sure there's a come-back in it somewhere, " wasMrs. Whittle's opinion. "The Deacon says he don't know whether tovote for it or not. We'll have rain before long; and these droughtsdon't come every summer. "

Ellen Dix and Fanny Dodge were sitting outside on the porch. Bothgirls were sewing heart-shaped pieces of white cloth upon squares ofturkey-red calico. 

"Isn't it funny nobody seems to like her?" murmured Ellen, tossingher head. "I shouldn't be surprised if they wouldn't let her bringthe water in, for all she says she'll pay for everything exceptputting it in the houses. "

Fanny gazed at the white heart in the middle of the red square. 

"It's awfully hard to sew these hearts on without puckering, " shesaid. 

"Fan, " said Ellen cautiously, "does the minister go there much now?"

Fanny compressed her lips. 

"I'm sure I don't know, " she replied, her eyes and fingers busy withan unruly heart, which declined to adjust itself to requirements. "What are they going to do with this silly patchwork, anyway?"

"Make an autograph quilt for the minister's birthday; didn't youknow?"

Fanny dropped her unfinished work. 

"I never heard of anything so silly!" she said sharply. 

"Everybody is to write their names in pencil on these hearts, "pursued Ellen mischievously; "then they're to be done in tracingstitch in red cotton. In the middle of the quilt is to be a big whitesquare, with a large red heart in it; that's supposed to be WesleyElliot's. It's to have his monogram in stuffed letters, in the middleof it. Lois Daggett's doing that now. I think it's a lovely idea--soromantic, you know. "

Fanny did not appear to be listening; her pretty white forehead worea frowning look. 

"Ellen, " she said abruptly, "do you ever see anything of Jimnowadays?"

"Oh! so you thought you'd pay me back, did you?" cried Ellen angrily. "I never said I cared a rap for Jim Dodge; but you told me a wholelot about Wesley Elliot: don't you remember that night we walked homefrom the fair, and you--"

Fanny suddenly put her hand over her friend's. 

"Please don't talk so loud, Ellen; somebody will be sure to hear. I'dforgotten what you said--truly, I had. But Jim--"

"Well?" interrogated Ellen impatiently, arching her slender blackbrows. 

"Let's walk down in the orchard, " proposed Fanny. "Somebody else canwork on these silly old hearts, if they want to. My needle sticks soI can't sew, anyway. "

"I've got to help mother cut the cake, in a minute, " objected Ellen. 

But she stepped down on the parched grass and the two friends weresoon strolling among the fallen fruit of a big sweet apple treebehind the house, their arms twined about each other's waists, theirpretty heads bent close together. 

Chapter XVI

"The reason I spoke to you about Jim just now, " said Fanny, "wasbecause he's been acting awfully queer lately. I thought perhaps youknew--I know he likes you better than any of the other girls. He saysyou have some sense, and the others haven't. "

"I guess that must have been before Lydia Orr came to Brookville, "said Ellen, in a hard, sweet voice. 

"Yes; it was, " admitted Fanny reluctantly. "Everything seems to bedifferent since then. "

"What has Jim been doing that's any queerer than usual?" inquiredEllen, with some asperity. 

Fanny hesitated. 

"You won't tell?"

"Of course not, if it's a secret. "

"Cross your heart an' hope t' die?" quoted Fanny from their childhooddays. 

Ellen giggled. 

"Cross m' heart an' hope t' die, " she repeated. 

"Well, Jim's been off on some sort of a trip, " said Fanny. 

"I don't see anything so very queer about that. "

"Wait till I tell you-- You must be sure and not breathe a word, evento your mother; you won't, will you?"

"Fan, you make me mad! Didn't I just say I wouldn't?"

"Well, then; he went with _her_ in the auto; they started about fiveo'clock in the morning, and Jim didn't get home till after twelvethat night. "

Ellen laughed, with studied indifference. 

"Pity they couldn't have asked us to go along, " she said. "I'm surethe car's plenty big enough. "

"I don't think it was just for fun, " said Fanny. 

"You don't? What for, then?"

"I asked Jim, and he wouldn't tell me. "

"When did you ask him?"

"The morning they went. I came down about half past four: motherdoesn't get up as early as that, we haven't much milk to look afternow; but I wake up awfully early sometimes, and I'd rather be doingsomething than lying there wide awake. "

Ellen squeezed Fanny's arm sympathetically. She herself had lost nomoments of healthy sleep over Jim Dodge's fancied defection; but sheenjoyed imagining herself to be involved in a passionate romance. 

"Isn't it _awful_ to lie awake and think--_and think_, and not beable to do a single thing!" she said, with a tragic gesture. 

Fanny bent down to look into Ellen's pretty face. 

"Why, Ellen, " she said, "is it as bad as that? I didn't suppose youreally cared. "

She clasped Ellen's slender waist closer and kissed her fervently. 

Ellen coaxed two shining tears into sparkling prominence on her longlashes. 

"Oh, don't mind me, Fan, " she murmured; "but I _can_ sympathize withyou, dear. I know _exactly_ how you feel--and to think it's the samegirl!"

Ellen giggled light-heartedly:

"Anyway, she can't marry both of them, " she finished. 

Fanny was looking away through the boles of the gnarled old trees, her face grave and preoccupied. 

"Perhaps I oughtn't to have told you, " she said. 

"Why, you haven't told me anything, yet, " protested Ellen. "You'rethe funniest girl, Fan! I don't believe you know how to--reallyconfide in anybody. If you'd tell me more how you feel about _him_, you wouldn't care half so much. "

Fanny winced perceptibly. She could not bear to speak of thesecret--which indeed appeared to be no secret--she strove daily tobury under a mountain of hard work, but which seemed possessed ofmysterious powers of resurrection in the dark hours between sunsetand sunrise. 

"But there's nothing to--to talk about, Ellen, " she said; and inspite of herself her voice sounded cold, almost menacing. 

"Oh, very well, if you feel that way, " retorted Ellen. "But I cantell you one thing--or, I _might_ tell you something; but I guess Iwon't. "

"Please, Ellen, --if it's about--"

"Well, it is. "

Fanny's eyes pleaded hungrily with the naughty Ellen. 

"You haven't finished your account of that interesting pleasureexcursion of Jim's and Miss Orr's, " said Ellen. "Isn't it lovely Jimcan drive her car? Is he going to be her regular chauffeur? And doyou get an occasional joy-ride?"

"Of course not, " Fanny said indignantly. "Oh, Ellen, how can you goon like that! I'm sure you don't care a bit about Jim or me, either. "

"I do!" declared Ellen. "I love you with all my heart, Fan; but Idon't know about Jim. I--I might have--you know; but if he's crazyover that Orr girl, what's the use? There are other men, just asgood-looking as Jim Dodge and not half so sarcastic anddisagreeable. "

"Jim can be disagreeable, if he wants to, " conceded Jim's sister. "When I asked him where he was going with the car so early in themorning--you know he's been bringing the car home nights so as toclean it and fix the engine, till she can get somebody--I wassurprised to find him putting in oil and tightening up screws andthings, when it was scarcely daylight; and I said so. He wouldn'ttell me a thing. 'You just 'tend to your own knitting, Fan, ' was allhe said; 'perhaps you'll know some day; and then again, perhaps youwon't. '"

"And didn't you find out?" cried Ellen, her dark eyes alight withcuriosity. "If that doesn't sound exactly like Jim Dodge! But yousaid you heard him when he came in that night; didn't he tell youanything then?--You don't think they ran off to get married? Oh, Fan!"

"Of course not, you goose! Do you suppose he'd have come back homealone, if it had been anything like that?"

Ellen heaved a sigh of exaggerated relief. 

"'Be still, my heart'!" she murmured. 

"No; they went to get somebody from somewhere, " pursued Fanny. 

"To get somebody from somewhere, " repeated Ellen impatiently. "Howthrilling! Who do you suppose it was?"

Fanny shook her head:

"I haven't the slightest idea. "

"How perfectly funny! . .. Is the somebody there, now?"

"I don't know. Jim won't tell me a thing that goes on there. He saysif there's anything on top of the earth he absolutely despises it's agossiping man. He says a gossiping woman is a creation of God--mustbe, there's so many of 'em; but a gossiping man--he can't find anyword in the dictionary mean enough for that sort of a low-downskunk. "

Ellen burst into hysterical laughter. 

"What an idea!" she gasped. "Oh, but he's almost too sweet to live, Fan. Somebody ought to take him down a peg or two. Fan, if heproposes to that girl, I hope she won't have him. 'Twould serve himright!"

"Perhaps she won't marry anybody around here, " mused Fanny. "Did youever notice she wears a thin gold chain around her neck, Ellen?"

Ellen nodded. 

"Perhaps there's a picture of somebody on it. "

"I shouldn't wonder. "

Ellen impatiently kicked a big apple out of her way, to the manifestdiscomfiture of two or three drunken wasps who were battening on thesweet juices. 

"I've got to go back to the house, " she said. "Mother'll be lookingfor me. "

"But, Ellen--"

"Well?"

"You said you knew something--"

Ellen yawned. 

"Did I?"

"You know you did, Ellen! Please--"

"'Twasn't much. "

"What was it?"

"Oh, nothing, only I met the minister coming out of Lydia Orr's houseone day awhile ago, and he was walking along as if he'd been sentfor-- Never even saw me. I had a good mind to speak to him, anyway;but before I could think of anything cute to say he'd goneby--two-forty on a plank road!"

Fanny was silent. She was wishing she had not asked Ellen to tell. Then instantly her mind began to examine this new aspect of herproblem. 

"He didn't look so awfully pleased and happy, " Ellen went on, "hishead was down--so, and he was just scorching up the road. Perhapsthey'd been having a scrap. "

"Oh, no!" burst from Fanny's lips. "It wasn't that. "

"Why, what do you know about Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr?" inquiredEllen vindictively. "You're a whole lot like Jim--as close-mouthed asa molasses jug, when you don't happen to feel like talking. .. . Itisn't fair, " she went on crossly. "I tell you everything--everysingle thing; and you just take it all in without winking an eyelash. It isn't fair!"

"Oh, Ellen, please don't--I can't bear it from you!"

Fanny's proud head drooped to her friend's shoulder, a stifled sobescaped her. 

"There now, Fan; I didn't mean a word of it! I'm sorry I told youabout him--only I thought he looked so kind of cut up over somethingthat maybe-- Honest, Fan, I don't believe he likes her. "

"You don't know, " murmured Fanny, wiping her wet eyes. "I didn't tellyou she came to see me. "

"She did!"

"Yes; it was after we had all been there, and mother was going on soabout the furniture. It all seemed so mean and sordid to me, as if wewere trying to--well, you know. "

Ellen nodded:

"Of course I do. That's why you wouldn't let her have your furniture. I gloried in your spunk, Fan. "

"But I did let her have it, Ellen. "

"You did? Well!"

"I'll tell you how it happened. Mother'd gone down to the village, and Jim was off somewhere--he's never in the house day-times anymore; I'd been working on the new curtains all day, and I was justputting them up in the parlor, when she came. .. . Ellen, sometimes Ithink perhaps we don't understand that girl. She was just as sweet--If it wasn't for-- If I hadn't hardened my heart against her almostthe first thing, you know, I don't believe I could help loving her. "

"Fanny!" cried Ellen protestingly. "She certainly is a soft-soapartist. My mother says she is so refined; and Mrs. Daggett is alwayschanting her praises. "

"Think of all she's done for the village, " urged Fanny. "I want to bejust, even if--"

"Well, I don't!" cried Ellen. "I just enjoy being real spitefulsometimes--especially when another girl gobbles all the men in sight;and I know I'm prettier than she is. It's just because she's newand--and stylish and rich. What made you give in about yourfurniture, Fan?"

"Because I--"

Fanny stopped short, puckering her forehead. 

"I don't know whether I can explain it, Ellen; but I notice it everytime I am with her. There's something--"

"Good gracious, Fan! She must have hypnotized you. "

"Be quiet, Ellen, I'm trying to think just how it happened. Shedidn't say so very much--just sat down and watched me, while I sewedrings on the curtains. But the first thing I knew, I piped up andsaid: 'Do you really want that old furniture of mine so much?' Andshe said-- Well, no matter what she said; it was more the way shelooked. I guess I'd have given her the eyes out of my head, or anyold thing. "

"That's just what I told you, " interrupted Ellen. "There are peoplelike that. Don't you remember that horrid old what's-his-name in'Trilby'?"

"Don't be silly, Ellen, " said Fanny rebukingly. "Well, I took her upto my room and showed her my bed and bureau and washstand. There weresome chairs, too; mother got them all for my room at that old auctionwe've heard so much about; I was just a baby then. I told her aboutit. She sat down in my rocking-chair by the window and just looked atthe things, without saying a word, at first. After a while, she said:'Your mother used to come in and tuck the blankets around you niceand warm in the night; didn't she?'"

"'Why, I suppose she did, ' I told her. 'Mother's room is right nextto mine. ' . .. Ellen, there was a look in her eyes--I can't tell youabout it--you wouldn't understand. And, anyway, I didn't care a bitabout the furniture. 'You can have it, ' I said. 'I don't want it, andI don't see why you do; it isn't pretty any more. ' I thought she wasgoing to cry, for a minute. Then such a soft gladness came over herface. She came up to me and took both my hands in hers; but all shesaid was 'Thank you. '"

"And did she pay you a whole lot for it?" inquired Ellen sordidly. 

"I didn't think anything about that part of it, " said Fanny. "Jimcarried it all over the next day, with a lot of old stuff mother had. Jim says she's had a man from Grenoble working in the barn for weeksand weeks, putting everything in order. My old set was painted over, with all the little garlands and blue ribbons, like new. "

"But how much--" persisted Ellen. "She must have paid you a lot forit. "

"I didn't ask mother, " said Fanny. "I didn't want to know. I've got anew set; it's real pretty. You must come over and see my room, nowit's all finished. "

What Fanny did not tell Ellen was that after Lydia's departure shehad unexpectedly come upon the photograph of the picnic group under abook on her table. The faded picture with its penciled words hadmeant much to Fanny. She had not forgotten, she told herself, shecould never forget, that day in June, before the unlooked-for arrivalof the strange girl, whose coming had changed everything. Once moreshe lived over in imagination that perfect day, with its white cloudsfloating high in the blue, and the breath of clover on the wind. Sheand Wesley Elliot had gone quietly away into the woods after theboisterous merriment of the picnic luncheon. 

"It's safe enough, as long as we follow the stream, " Fanny hadassured him, piloting the way over fallen logs and through densethickets of pine and laurel, further and further away from the soundsof shrill laughter and the smoky smell of the camp fire, where thegirls were still busy toasting marshmallows on long sticks for theyouths who hovered in the rear. 

The minister had expressed a keen desire to hear the rare notes ofthe hermit thrush; and this romantic quest led them deep into theforest. The girl paused at last on the brink of a pool, where theycould see the shadowy forms of brook trout gliding through the clear, cold water. 

"If we are quiet and listen, " she told him, "I think we shall hearthe hermit. "

On a carpet of moss, thicker and softer than a deep-piled rug, theysat down. Not a sound broke the stillness but the gurgle of water andthe soft soughing of the wind through great tree tops. The ministerbared his head, as if aware of the holy spirit of solitude in theplace. Neither spoke nor stirred; but the girl's heart beat loud--soloud she feared he might hear, and drew her little cape closer aboveher breast. Then all at once, ringing down the somber aisles of theforest came the song of the solitary bird, exquisite, lonely, filledwith an indescribable, yearning sweetness. The man's eloquent eyesmet her own in a long look. 

"Wonderful!" he murmured. 

His hand sought and closed upon hers for an instant. Then withoutfurther speech they returned to the picnickers. Someone--she thoughtit was Joyce Fulsom--snapped the joyous group at the moment of thedeparture. It had been a week later, that he had written the words"Lest we forget"--with a look and smile which set the girl's pulsesfluttering. But that was in June. Now it was September. Fanny, crouched by the window where Lydia Orr had been that afternoon, stared coldly at the picture. It was downright silly to have carriedit about with her. She had lost it somewhere--pulling out herhandkerchief, perhaps. Had Lydia Orr found and brought it back? Sheardently wished she knew; but in the meanwhile--

She tore the picture deliberately across, thereby accomplishingunhindered what Wesley Elliot had attempted several days before; thenshe burned the fragments in the quick spurt of a lighted match. .. . Lest we forget, indeed!

Chapter XVII

The day after the sewing society Ellen Dix went up to her room, afterhurriedly washing the dinner dishes. It was still hot, but a vaguehaze had crept across the brazen sky since morning. Ellen's roomlooked out into cool green depths of trees, so that on a cloudy dayit was almost too dark to examine the contents of the closet oppositeits two east windows. 

It was a pretty room, freshly papered and painted, as were many roomsin Brookville since the sale of the old Bolton properties. Nearlyevery one had scrimped and saved and gone without so long that thesudden influx of money into empty pockets had acted like wine in ahungry stomach. Henry Daggett had thrice replenished his stock ofwall papers; window shades and curtaining by the yard had been inconstant demand for weeks; bright colored chintzes and gay floweredcretonnes were apparently a prime necessity in many households. Asfor paper hangers and painters, few awaited their unhurriedmovements. It was easy for anybody with energy and common sense towield a paintbrush; and old paper could be scraped off and freshstrips applied by a simple application of flour paste and thefundamental laws of physics. One improvement clamors loudly foranother, and money was still coming in from the most unexpectedsources, so new furniture was bought to take the place of unprizedchairs and tables long ago salvaged from the Bolton wreck. And sinceMrs. Deacon Whittle's dream parlor, with its marble-tops andplush-upholstered furniture, had become a solid reality, otherparlors burgeoned forth in multi-colored magnificence. Scraggy oldshrubs were trimmed; grass was cut in unkempt dooryards; flowers wereplanted--and all because of the lavish display of such improvementsat Bolton House, as "that queer Orr girl" persisted in calling it;thereby flying in the face of public opinion and local prejudice in away which soured the milk of human kindness before the cream ofgratitude could rise. 

Everybody agreed that there was something mysterious, if not entirelyunnatural in the conduct of the young woman. Nobody likes unsolvedriddles for long. The moment or century of suspense may proveinteresting--even exciting; but human intelligence resents theSphynx. 

Ellen Dix was intensely human. She was, moreover, jealous--orsupposed she was, which often amounts to the same thing. And becauseof this she was looking over the dresses, hanging on pegs along hercloset wall, with a demurely puckered brow. The pink muslin wasbecoming, but old-fashioned; the pale yellow trimmed with blackvelvet might get soiled with the dust, and she wasn't sure it wouldwash. She finally selected a white dress of a new and becoming style, attired in which she presently stood before her mirror adjusting aplain Panama hat, trimmed simply with a black ribbon. Not for nothinghad Ellen used her handsome dark eyes. She set the hat over her blackhair at exactly the right angle, skewering it securely in place withtwo silver pins, also severely simple in their style and quite unlikethe glittering rhinestone variety offered for sale in Henry Daggett'sgeneral store. 

"I'm going out for a while, mother, " she said, as she passed the roomwhere Mrs. Dix was placidly sewing carpet rags out of materialsprodigiously increased of late, since both women had been able toafford several new dresses. 

"Going to Fanny's?" inquired Mrs. Dix. .. . "Seems to me you'restarting out pretty early, dear, in all this heat. If you'll waittill sundown, I'll go with you. I haven't seen their parlor sincethey got the new curtains up. "

"I'm not going to Fanny's, right off, " said Ellen evasively. "MaybeI'll stop on the way back, though. 'Tisn't very hot; it's clouded upsome. "

"Better taken an umbrella, " her mother sent after her. "We might geta thunder storm along towards four o'clock. My shoulder's beenpaining me all the morning. "

But Ellen had already passed out of hearing, her fresh skirts heldwell away from the dusty wayside weeds. 

She was going, with intentions undefined, to see Lydia Orr. Perhaps(she was thinking) she might see Jim Dodge. Anyway, she wanted to goto Bolton House. She would find out for herself wherein lay thecurious fascination of which Fanny had spoken. She was surprised atFanny for so easily giving in about the furniture. Secretly, sheconsidered herself to be possibly a bit shrewder than Fanny. Inreality she was not as easily influenced, and slower at formingconclusions. She possessed a mind of more scope. 

Ellen walked along, setting her pointed feet down very carefully soas not to raise the dust and soil her nice skirts. She was a daintycreature. When she reached the hedge which marked the beginning ofthe Bolton estate, she started, not violently, that was not her way, but anybody is more startled at the sudden glimpse of a figure atcomplete rest, almost rigidity, than of a figure in motion. Had theold man whom Ellen saw been walking along toward her, she would nothave started at all. She might have glanced at him with passingcuriosity, since he was a stranger in Brookville, then that wouldhave been the end of it. But this old man, standing as firmly fixedas a statue against the hedge, startled the girl. He was rather ahandsome old man, but there was something peculiar about him. For onething he was better dressed than old men in Brookville generallywere. He wore a light Palm Beach cloth suit, possibly too young forhim, also a Panama hat. He did not look altogether tidy. He did notwear his up-to-date clothes very well. He had a rumpled appearance. He was very pale almost with the paleness of wax. He did not standstrongly, but rested his weight first on one foot, then on the other. Ellen recovered her composure, but as she was passing, he spokesuddenly. His tone was eager and pitiful. "Why Ann Eliza Dix, " hesaid. "How do you do? You are not going to pass without speaking tome?"

"My name is Dix, but not Ann Eliza, " said Ellen politely; "my name isEllen. "

"You are Cephas Dix's sister, Ann Eliza, " insisted the old man. Hiseyes looked suddenly tearful. "I know I am right, " he said. "You areAnn Eliza Dix. "

The girl felt a sudden pity. Her Aunt Ann Eliza Dix had been lying inher grave for ten years, but she could not contradict the poor man. "Of course, " she said. "How do you do?"

The old man's face lit up. "I knew I was right, " he said. "I forget, you see, sometimes, but this time I was sure. How are you, AnnEliza?"

"Very well, thank you. "

"How is Cephas?"

"He is well, too. "

"And your father?"

Ellen shivered a little. It was rather bewildering. This strange oldman must mean her grandfather, who had died before her Aunt AnnEliza. She replied faintly that he was well, and hoped, with a qualmof ghastly mirth, that she was speaking the truth. Ellen'sgrandfather had not been exactly a godly man, and the family seldommentioned him. 

"He means well, Ann Eliza, if sometimes you don't exactly like theway he does, " said the living old man, excusing the dead one for thefaults of his life. 

"I know he does, " said Ellen. The desire to laugh grew upon her. 

She was relieved when the stranger changed the subject. She felt thatshe would become hysterical if this forcible resurrection of her deadrelatives continued. 

"Do you like an automobile?" asked the old man. 

"I don't know, I never had one. "

The stranger looked at her confidingly. "My daughter has one, " hesaid, "and I know she bought it for me, and she has me taken out init, but I am afraid. It goes too fast. I can't get over being afraid. But you won't tell her, will you, Ann Eliza?"

"Of course I won't. "

Ellen continued to gaze at him, but she did not speak. 

"Let me see, what is your name, my dear?" the man went on. He wasleaning on his stick, and Ellen noticed that he trembled slightly, asthough with weakness. He breathed hard. The veinous hands folded ontop of the stick were almost as white as his ears. 

"My name is Ellen Dix, " she said. 

"Dix--Dix?" repeated the man. "Why, I know that name, certainly, ofcourse! You must be the daughter of Cephas Dix. Odd name, Cephas, eh?"

Ellen nodded, her eyes still busy with the details of the stranger'sappearance. She was sure she had never seen him before, yet he knewher father's name. 

"My father has been dead a long time, " she said; "ever since I was alittle girl. "

The man appeared singularly disquieted by this intelligence. "Ihadn't heard that, " he said. "Dead--a long time? Well!"

He scowled, flourishing his stick as if to pass on; then settled tohis former posture, his pale hands folded on its handsome gold top. 

"Cephas Dix wasn't an old man, " he muttered, as if talking tohimself. "Not old. He should be hale and hearty, living in this goodcountry air. Wonderful air this, my dear. "

And he drew a deep breath, his wandering gaze returning swiftly tothe girl's face. 

"I was just walking out, " he said, nodding briskly. "Great treat tobe able to walk out. I shall walk out whenever I like. Don't care forautomobiles--get you over the road too fast. No, no; I won't go outin the automobile, unless I feel like it! No, I won't; and there's anend of it!"

He brought his stick down heavily in the dust, as if emphasizing thisstatement. 

"Guess your father left you pretty well off, eh, my dear?" he went onpresently. "Glad to see you looking so fresh and neat. Always like tosee a pretty girl well dressed. "

The man's eyes, extraordinarily bright and keen, roved nimbly overher face and figure. 

"No, he did not, " replied Ellen. "My father used to be rich, " shewent on. "I've heard mother tell about it hundreds of times. We hadhorses and a carriage and plenty of money; but when the bank went topieces my father lost everything. Then he died. "

The man was peering at her from under his shaggy gray brows. 

"But not because the bank failed? Surely not because he lost hismoney? That sort of thing doesn't kill a man, my dear. No, no!"

"It did, " declared Ellen firmly. 

The man at once seemed to grow smaller; to huddle together in hisclothes. He muttered something unintelligible, then turned squarelyabout, so that Ellen could see only his hunched back and theglistening white hair cut close behind his waxen ears. 

The girl walked thoughtfully on, but when she paused to look back shesaw that he had resumed his slow walk in the opposite direction, hisstick describing odd flourishes in the air, as before. 

When she reached Bolton House she was ushered into a beautiful parlorby a prim maid in a frilled cap and apron. The maid presented to herattention a small silver tray, and Ellen, blushing uncomfortablybecause she had no card, asked for Miss Orr. 

Soon the frilled maid reappeared. "I'm sorry, Miss, " she said, "Ithought Miss Lydia was at home, but I can't find her anywheresabout. "

She eyed Ellen's trim figure doubtfully. "If there was any message--"

"No, " said Ellen. "I only came to call. "

"I'm real sorry, Miss, " repeated the maid. "Miss Lydia'll be sorry, too. Who shall I say, please?"

"Miss Dix, " replied Ellen. She walked past the maid, who held thedoor wide for her exit. Then she paused. A surprising sight met hereyes. Lydia Orr, hatless, flushed as if by rapid flight, was justreaching the steps, convoying the strange old man Ellen had met onthe road a short time before. 

The maid at her back gave a little cry. Ellen stood staring. So thiswas the person Jim Dodge had gone to fetch from somewhere!

"But it isn't too warm for me to be walking out to take the air, " sheheard, in the heavy mumble of the man's voice. "I don't like beingwatched, Lydia; and I won't stand it, either. I might as well be--"

Lydia interrupted him with a sharp exclamation. She had caught sightof Ellen Dix standing under the deep portico, the scared face of themaid looking over her shoulder. 

Ellen's face crimsoned slowly. All at once she felt unaccountablysorry and ashamed. She wished she had not come. She felt that shewanted nothing so much as to hurry swiftly away. 

But Lydia Orr, still holding the strange old man by the arm, wasalready coming up the steps. 

"I'll not go in the automobile, child, " he repeated, with anobstinate flourish of his stick. "I don't like to ride so fast. Iwant to see things. I want--"

He stopped short, his mouth gaping, his eyes staring at Ellen. 

"That girl!" he almost shouted. "She told me--I don't want herhere. .. . Go away, girl, you make my head hurt!"

Lydia flashed a beseeching look at Ellen, as she led the old manpast. 

"Please come in, " she said; "I shall be at liberty in just amoment. .. . Come, father!"

Ellen hesitated. 

"Perhaps I'd better not, today, " she murmured, and slowly descendedthe steps. 

The discreet maid closed the door behind her. 

Chapter XVIII

Ellen did not at once return home. She walked on reflecting. So theold man was Lydia Orr's father! And she was the first to know it!

The girl had never spoken of her father, Ellen was sure. Had she doneso, Mrs. Solomon Black would certainly have told Mrs. Whittle, andMrs. Whittle would have informed Mrs. Daggett, and thence, by way ofMrs. Dodge and Fanny, the news would long ago have reached Ellen andher mother. 

Before she had covered a quarter of a mile of the dusty road, Ellenheard the muffled roar of an over-taking motor car. She glanced up, startled and half choked with the enveloping cloud of dust. Jim Dodgewas driving the car. He slowed down and stopped. 

"Hello, Ellen. Going down to the village? Get in and I'll take youalong, " he called out. 

"All right, " said Ellen, jumping in. 

"I haven't seen you for an age, Jim, " said Ellen after awhile. 

The young man laughed. "Does it seem that long to you, Ellen?"

"No, why should it?" she returned. 

"I say, Ellen, " said Jim, "I saw you when you came out of BoltonHouse just now. "

"Did you?"

"Yes. " He looked sharply at Ellen, who smiled evasively. 

"I was going to call, " she said with an innocent air, "but Miss Orrhad--a visitor. "

"Look here, Ellen; don't let's beat about the bush. Nobody knows he'sthere, yet, except myself and--you. You met him on the road; didn'tyou?"

"Yes, " said Ellen, "I met him on the road. "

"Did he talk to you?"

"He asked me what my name was. He's crazy, isn't he, Jim?"

The young man frowned thoughtfully at his steering wheel. 

"Not exactly, " he said, after a pause. "He's been sick a long timeand his mind is--well, I think it has been somewhat affected. Didhe-- He didn't talk to you about himself, did he?"

"What do you want to know for?"

"Oh, he appeared rather excited, and--"

"Yes; I noticed that. " She laughed mischievously. 

Jim frowned. "Come, Ellen, quit this nonsense! What did he say toyou?"

"If you mean Mr. Orr--"

He turned his eyes from the road to stare at her for an instant. 

"Did he tell you his name was Orr?" he asked sharply. 

It was Ellen's turn to stare. 

"Why, if he is Miss Orr's father--" she began. 

"Oh, of course, " said Jim hurriedly. "I was just wondering if he hadintroduced himself. "

Ellen was silent. She was convinced that there was some mystery aboutthe pale old man. 

"He said a lot of awfully queer things to me, " she admitted, after apause during which Jim turned the car into a side road. .. . "I thoughtyou were going to the village. "

"This will take us to the village--give you a longer ride, Ellen. I'll take you home afterwards. "

"After what?"

"Why, after we've got the mail--or whatever you want. "

"Don't you think Miss Orr and that queer old Mr. ---- If his nameisn't Orr, Jim, what is it?" She shot a quick glance at him. 

"Good Lord!" muttered Jim profanely. 

He drew the car up at the side of the road and stopped it. 

"What are you going to do?" inquired Ellen, in some alarm. "Won't itgo?"

"When I get ready, " said Jim. 

He turned and faced her squarely:

"We'll have this out, before we go a foot further! I won't have thewhole town talking, " he said savagely. 

Ellen said nothing. She was rather angry. 

"The devil!" cried Jim Dodge. "What's the matter with you, Ellen?"

"With me?" she repeated. 

"Yes. Why can't you talk?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I want to go home, " she said. 

He seized her roughly by the wrist. "Ellen, " he said, "I believe youknow more than you are willing to tell. " He stared down into hereyes. "What did he say to you, anyway?"

"Who?"

"You know well enough. The old man. Lord, what a mess!"

"Please let me go, Jim, " said Ellen. "Now look here, I knowabsolutely nothing except what I have told you, and I want to gohome. "

_"Ellen!"_

"Well?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Of course I can, Jim!" She met his dark gaze squarely. 

"Well, rather than have you spreading a piece of damnable gossip overthe village-- Of course you would have told everybody. "

"You mean about meeting the old man? But won't everybody know? If hegoes out and talks to people as he did to me?"

"You haven't told me what he said. "

Ellen raised her brows with a mischievous air. 

"I didn't care to spread any--what sort of gossip did you say, Jim?"

"Confound it! I didn't mean that. "

"Of course I could see he was some one who used to live here, " shewent on. "He knew father. "

Jim had thrust his hands deep into his trousers' pockets. He utteredan impatient ejaculation. 

"And he said he should go out whenever he felt like it. He doesn'tlike the automobile. "

"Oh, it's an impossible proposition. I see that plainly enough!" Jimsaid, as if to himself. "But it seems a pity--"

He appeared to plunge into profound meditation. 

"I say, Ellen, you like her; don't you? . .. Don't see how you can helpit. She's a wonder!"

"Who? Miss Orr?"

"Of course! Say, Ellen, if you knew what that girl has gone through, without a murmur; and now I'm afraid-- By George! we ought to spareher. "

"We?"

"Yes; you and I. You can do a lot to help, Ellen, if you will. Thatold man you saw is sick, hardly sane. And no wonder. "

He stopped short and stared fixedly at his companion. 

"Did you guess who he was?" he asked abruptly. 

Ellen reflected. "I can guess--if you'll give me time. "

Jim made an impatient gesture. "That's just what I thought, " hegrowled. "There'll be the devil to pay generally. "

"Jim, " said Ellen earnestly, "if we are to help her, you must tell meall about that old man. "

"_She_ wanted to tell everybody, " he recollected gloomily. "And whynot you? Imagine an innocent child set apart from the world byanother's crime, Ellen. See, if you can, that child growing up, withbut one thought, one ideal--the welfare of that other person. Pictureto yourself what it would be like to live solely to make a greatwrong right, and to save the wrongdoer. Literally, Ellen, she hasborne that man's grief and carried his sorrow, as truly as anyvaunted Saviour of the world. Can you see it?"

"Do you mean--? Is _that_ why she calls it _Bolton_ House? Of course!And that dreadful old man is-- But, Jim, everybody will find it out. "

"You're right, " he acknowledged. "But they mustn't find it out justyet. We must put it off till the man can shake that hang-dog air ofhis. Why, he can't even walk decently. Prison is written all overhim. Thank God, she doesn't seem to see it!"

"I'm so glad you told me, Jim, " said Ellen gently. 

"You won't say a word about this, will you, Ellen?" he askedanxiously. "I can depend on you?"

"Give me a little credit for decency and common sense, " repliedEllen. 

Jim bent over the wheel and kissed her. 

Chapter XIX

Rain was falling in torrents, slanting past the windows of the oldparsonage in long gray lines, gurgling up between loosened panes, anddrip-dropping resoundingly in the rusty pan the minister had setunder a broken spot in the ceiling. Upstairs a loosened shutterbanged intermittently under the impact of the wind, which howledpast, to lose itself with great commotion in the tops of the tallevergreens in the churchyard. It was the sort of day when untowardevents, near and far, stand out with unpleasant prominence againstthe background of one's everyday life. A day in which a man is led, whether he will or not, to take stock of himself and to balance withsome care the credit and debit sides of his ledger. 

Wesley Elliot had been working diligently on his sermon since nineo'clock that morning, at which hour he had deserted Mrs. SolomonBlack's comfortable tight roof, to walk under the inadequate shelterof a leaking umbrella to the parsonage. 

Three closely written pages in the minister's neat firm handwritingattested his uninterrupted diligence. At the top of the fourth pagehe set a careful numeral, under it wrote "Thirdly, " then paused, laiddown his pen, yawned wearily and gazed out at the dripping shrubbery. The rain had come too late to help the farmers, he was thinking. Itwas always that way: too much sunshine and dry weather; then too muchrain--floods of it, deluges of it. 

He got up from his chair, stretched his cramped limbs and beganmarching up and down the floor. He had fully intended to get awayfrom Brookville before another winter set in. But there were reasonswhy he felt in no hurry to leave the place. He compelled himself toconsider them. 

Was he in love with Lydia Orr? Honestly, he didn't know. He had halfthought he was, for a whole month, during which Lydia had faced himacross Mrs. Solomon Black's table three times a day. 

As he walked up and down, he viewed the situation. Lydia haddeclared, not once but often, that she wanted friends. Women alwaystalked that way, and meant otherwise. But did she? The minister shookhis head dubiously. He thought of Lydia Orr, of her beauty, of herelusive sweetness. He was ashamed to think of her money, but he ownedto himself that he did. 

Then he left his study and rambled about the chill rooms of the lowerfloor. From the windows of the parlor, where he paused to stare out, he could look for some distance up the street. He noticed dully thedouble row of maples from which yellowed leaves were alreadybeginning to fall and the ugly fronts of houses, behind their shabbypicket fences. A wagon was creaking slowly through a shallow sea ofmud which had been dust the day before: beyond the hunched figure ofthe teamster not a human being was in sight. Somewhere, a dog barkedfitfully and was answered by other dogs far away; and always theshutter banged at uncertain intervals upstairs. This nuisance, atleast, could be abated. He presently located the shutter and closedit; then, because its fastening had rusted quite away, sought for abit of twine in his pocket and was about to tie it fast when the windwrenched it again from his hold. As he thrust a black-coated arm fromthe window to secure the unruly disturber of the peace he saw a manfumbling with the fastening of the parsonage gate. Before he couldreach the foot of the stairs the long unused doorbell janglednoisily. 

He did not recognize the figure which confronted him on the stoop, when at last he succeeded in undoing the door. The man wore araincoat turned up about his chin and the soft brim of a felt hatdripped water upon its close-buttoned front. 

"Good-morning, good-morning, sir!" said the stranger, as if his wordshad awaited the opening of the door with scant patience. "You arethe--er--local clergyman, I suppose?"

At uncertain periods Wesley Elliot had been visited by a migratory_colporteur_, and less frequently by impecunious persons representingthemselves to be fellow warriors on the walls of Zion, temporarilyout of ammunition. In the brief interval during which he convoyed thestranger from the chilly obscurity of the hall to the dubious comfortof his study, he endeavored to place his visitor in one of these twoclasses, but without success. 

"Didn't stop for an umbrella, " explained the man, rubbing his handsbefore the stove, in which the minister was striving to kindle alivelier blaze. 

Divested of his dripping coat and hat he appeared somewhat stoopedand feeble; he coughed slightly, as he gazed about the room. 

"What's the matter here?" he inquired abruptly; "don't they pay youyour salary?"

The minister explained in brief his slight occupancy of theparsonage; whereat the stranger shook his head:

"That's wrong--all wrong, " he pronounced: "A parson should be marriedand have children--plenty of them. Last time I was here, couldn'thear myself speak there was such a racket of children in the hall. Mother sick upstairs, and the kids sliding down the banisters likemad. I left the parson a check; poor devil!"

He appeared to fall into a fit of musing, his eyes on the floor. 

"I see you're wondering who I am, young man, " he said presently. "Well, we're coming to that, presently. I want some advice; so Ishall merely put the case baldly. .. . I wanted advice, before; but theparson of that day couldn't give me the right sort. Good Lord! I cansee him yet: short man, rather stout and baldish. Meant well, but hisreligion wasn't worth a bean to me that day. .. . Religion is all verywell to talk about on a Sunday; broadcloth coat, white tie and thatsort of thing; good for funerals, too, when a man's dead and can'tanswer back. Sometimes I've amused myself wondering what a dead manwould say to a parson, if he could sit up in his coffin and talk fiveminutes of what's happened to him since they called him dead. Interesting to think of--eh? . .. Had lots of time to think. .. . Thoughtof most everything that ever happened; and more that didn't. "

"You are a stranger in Brookville, sir?" observed Wesley Elliot, politely. 

He had already decided that the man was neither a _colporteur_ nor aclerical mendicant; his clothes were too good, for one thing. 

The man laughed, a short, unpleasant sound which ended in a fit ofcoughing. 

"A stranger in Brookville?" he echoed. "Well; not precisely. .. . Butnever mind that, young man. Now, you're a clergyman, and on thataccount supposed to have more than ordinary good judgment: what wouldyou advise a man to do, who had--er--been out of active life for anumber of years. In a hospital, we'll say, incapacitated, very muchso. When he comes out, he finds himself quite pleasantly situated, ina way; good home, and all that sort of thing; but not allowed to--touse his judgment in any way. Watched--yes, watched, by a person whoought to know better. It's intolerable--intolerable! Why, you'll notbelieve me when I tell you I'm obliged to sneak out of my own houseon the sly--on the sly, you understand, for the purpose of takingneedful exercise. "

He stopped short and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, thefineness of which the minister noted mechanically--with other detailswhich had before escaped him; such as the extreme, yellowish pallorof the man's face and hands and the extraordinary swiftness andbrightness of his eyes. He was conscious of growing uneasiness as hesaid:

"That sounds very unpleasant, sir; but as I am not in possession ofthe facts--"

"But I just told you, " interrupted the stranger. "Didn't I say--"

"You didn't make clear to me what the motives of this person whotries to control your movements are. You didn't tell me--"

The man moved his hand before his face, like one trying to brush awayimaginary flies. 

"I suppose she has her motives, " he said fretfully. "And very likelythey're good. I'll not deny that. But I can't make her see that thisconstant espionage--this everlasting watchfulness is not to be borne. I want freedom, and by God I'll have it!"

He sprang from his chair and began pacing the room. 

Wesley Elliot stared at his visitor without speaking. He perceivedthat the man dragged his feet, as if from excessive fatigue orweakness. 

"I had no thought of such a thing, " the stranger went on. "I'dplanned, as a man will who looks forward to release from--from ahospital, how I'd go about and see my old neighbors. I wanted to havethem in for dinners and luncheons--people I haven't seen for years. She knows them. She can't excuse herself on that ground. She knowsyou. "

He stopped short and eyed the minister, a slow grin spreading overhis face. 

"The last time you were at my house I had a good mind to walk in andmake your acquaintance, then and there. I heard you talking to her. You admire my daughter: that's easy to see; and she's not such a badmatch, everything considered. "

"Who are you?" demanded the young man sharply. 

"I am a man who's been dead and buried these eighteen years, " repliedthe other. "But I'm alive still--very much alive; and they'll find itout. "

An ugly scowl distorted the man's pale face. For an instant he staredpast Wesley Elliot, his eyes resting on an irregular splotch of dampon the wall. Then he shook himself. 

"I'm alive, " he repeated slowly. "And I'm free!"

"Who are you?" asked the minister for the second time. 

For all his superior height and the sinewy strength of his youngshoulders he began to be afraid of the man who had come to him out ofthe storm. There was something strangely disconcerting, evensinister, in the ceaseless movements of his pale hands and the suddenlightning dart of his eyes, as they shifted from the defaced wall tohis own perturbed face. 

By way of reply the man burst into a disagreeable cackle of laughter:

"Stopped in at the old bank building on my way, " he said. "Got it allfixed up for a reading room and library. Quite a nice idea for thevillagers. I'd planned something of the sort, myself. Approve of thatsort of thing for a rural population. Who--was the benefactor in thiscase--eh? Take it for granted the villagers didn't do it forthemselves. The women in charge there referred me to you forinformation. .. . Don't be in haste, young man. I'll answer yourquestion in good time. Who gave the library, fixed up the buildingand all that? Must have cost something. "

The minister sat down with an assumption of ease he did not feel, facing the stranger who had already possessed himself of the onecomfortable chair in the room. 

"The library, " he said, "was given to the village by a Miss Orr, ayoung woman who has recently settled in Brookville. She has done agood deal for the place, in various ways. "

"What ways?" asked the stranger, with an air of interest. 

Wesley Elliot enumerated briefly the number of benefits: the purchaseand rebuilding of the old Bolton house, the construction of thewaterworks, at present under way, the library and reading room, withthe town hall above. "There are, " he stated, "other things whichmight be mentioned; such as the improvement of the village green, repairs on the church, the beginning of a fund for lighting thestreets, as well as innumerable smaller benefactions, involvingindividuals in and around Brookville. "

The man listened alertly. When the minister paused, he said:

"The young woman you speak of appears to have a deep pocket. "

The minister did not deny this. And the man spoke again, after aperiod of frowning silence:

"What was her idea?-- Orr, you said her name was?--in doing all thisfor Brookville? Rather remarkable--eh?"

His tone, like his words, was mild and commonplace; but his face worean ugly sneering look, which enraged the minister. 

"Miss Orr's motive for thus benefiting a wretched community, well-nigh ruined years ago by the villainy of one man, should be heldsacred from criticism, " he said, with heat. 

"Well, let me tell you the girl had a motive--or thought she had, "said the stranger unpleasantly. "But she had no right to spend hermoney that way. You spoke just now of the village as being ruinedyears ago by the villainy of one man. That's a lie! The villageruined the man. .. . Never looked at it that way; did you? AndrewBolton had the interests of this place more deeply at heart than anyother human being ever did. He was the one public-spirited man in theplace. .. . Do you know who built your church, young man? I see youdon't. Well, Andrew Bolton built it, with mighty little help fromyour whining, hypocritical church members. Every Tom, Dick and Harry, for miles about; every old maid with a book to sell; every cause--asthey call the thousand and one pious schemes to line their ownpockets--every damned one of 'em came to Andrew Bolton for money, andhe gave it to them. He was no hoarding skinflint; not he. Better forhim if he had been. When luck went against him, as it did at last, these precious villagers turned on him like a pack of wolves. Theykilled his wife; stripped his one child of everything--even to thebed she slept in; and the man himself they buried alive under amountain of stone and iron, where he rotted for eighteen years!"

The stranger's eyes were glaring with maniacal fury; he shook atremulous yellow finger in the other's face. 

"Talk about ruin!" he shouted. "Talk about one man's villainy! Thisdamnable village deserves to be razed off the face of the earth! . .. But I meant to forgive them. I was willing to call the score even. "

A nameless fear had gripped the younger man by the throat. 

"Are you--?" he began; but could not speak the words. 

"My name, " said the stranger, with astonishing composure, in view ofhis late fury, "is Andrew Bolton; and the girl you have been praisingand--courting--is my daughter. Now you see what a sentimental fool awoman can be. Well; I'll have it out with her. I'll live here inBrookville on equal terms with my neighbors. If there was ever a debtbetween us, it's been paid to the uttermost farthing. I've paid it inflesh and blood and manhood. Is there any money--any property you canname worth eighteen years of a man's life? And such years-- God! suchyears!"

Wesley Elliot stared. At last he understood the girl, and as hethought of her shrinking aloofness standing guard over her eagerlonging for friends--for affection, something hot and wet blurred hiseyes. He was scarcely conscious that the man, who had taken tohimself the name with which he had become hatefully familiar duringhis years in Brookville, was still speaking, till a startlingsentence or two aroused him. 

"There's no reason under heaven why you should not marry her, if youlike. Convict's daughter? Bah! I snap my fingers in their faces. Mygirl shall be happy yet. I swear it! But we'll stop all this sicklysentimentality about the money. We'll--"

The minister held up a warning hand. 

An immense yearning pity for Lydia had taken possession of him; butfor the man who had thus risen from a dishonorable grave to blighther girlhood he felt not a whit. 

"You'd better keep quiet, " he said sternly. "You'd far better go awayand leave her to live her life alone. "

"You'd like that; wouldn't you?" said Bolton dryly. 

He leaned forward and stared the young man in the eyes. 

"But she wouldn't have it that way. Do you know that girl of minewouldn't hear of it. She expects to make it up to me. .. . Imaginemaking up eighteen years of hell with a few pet names, a soft bedand--"

"Stop!" cried Wesley Elliot, with a gesture of loathing. "I can'tlisten to you. "

"But you'll marry her--eh?"

Bolton's voice again dropped into a whining monotone. He even smileddeprecatingly. 

"You'll excuse my ranting a bit, sir. It's natural after what I'vegone through. You've never been in a prison, maybe. And you don'tknow what it's like to shake the bars of a cell at midnight and howlout of sheer madness to be off and away--somewhere, anywhere!"

He leaned forward and touched the minister on the knee. 

"And that brings me back to my idea in coming to see you. I'm alevel-headed man, still--quite cool and collected, as you see--andI've been thinking the situation over. "

He drew his brows together and stared hard at the minister. 

"I've a proposition to make to you--as man to man. Can't talk reasonto a woman; there's no reason in a woman's make-up--just sentimentand affection and imagination: an impossible combination, when thereare hard realities to face. .. . I see you don't agree with me; butnever mind that; just hear what I have to say. "

But he appeared in no haste to go on, for all the eagerness of hiseyes and those pallid, restless hands. The minister got quickly tohis feet. The situation was momentarily becoming intolerable; he musthave time to think it over, he told himself, and determine his ownrelations to this new and unwelcome parishioner. 

"I'm very sorry, sir, " he began; "but--"

"None of that, " growled Bolton. "Sit down, young man, and listen towhat I have to say to you. We may not have another chance like this. "

His assumption of a common interest between them was mostdistasteful; but for all that the minister resumed his chair. 

"Now, as I've told you, my daughter appears unwilling to allow me outof her sight. She tries to cover her watchfulness under a pretense ofsolicitude for my health. I'm not well, of course; was knocked downand beaten about the head by one of those devils in the prison--Can't call them men: no decent man would choose to earn his livingthat way. But cosseting and coddling in a warm house will neverrestore me. I want freedom--nothing less. I must be out and away whenthe mood seizes me night or day. Her affection stifles me attimes. .. . You can't understand that, of course; you think I'mungrateful, no doubt; and that I ought--"

"You appear to me, a monster of selfishness, " Wesley Elliot broke in. "You ought to stop thinking of yourself and think of her. "

Bolton's face drew itself into the mirthless wrinkles which passedfor a smile. 

"I'm coming to that, " he said with some eagerness. "I do think ofher; and that's why-- Can't you see, man, that eighteen years ofprison don't grow the domestic virtues? A monster of selfishness?You're dead right. I'm all of that; and I'm too old to change. Ican't play the part of a doting father. I thought I could, before Igot out; but I can't. Twice I've been tempted to knock her down, whenshe stood between me and the door. .. . Keep cool; I didn't do it! ButI'm afraid of myself, I tell you. I've got to have my liberty. Shecan have hers. .. . Now here's my proposition: Lydia's got money. Idon't know how much. My brother-in-law was a close man. Never evenknew he was rich. But she's got it--all but what she's spent heretrying to square accounts, as she thought. Do they thank her for it?Not much. I know them! But see here, you marry Lydia, whenever youlike; then give me ten thousand dollars, and I'll clear out. I'm nota desirable father-in-law; I know that, as well as you do. But I'llguarantee to disappear, once my girl is settled. Is it a bargain?"

Elliot shook his head. 

"Your daughter doesn't love me, " he said. 

Bolton flung up his hand in an impatient gesture of dissent. 

"I stood in the way, " he said. "She was thinking of me, don't yousee? But if I get out-- Oh, I promise you I'll make myself scarce, once this matter is settled. "

"What you propose is impossible, on the face of it, " the ministersaid slowly. "I am sorry--"

"Impossible! Why impossible?" shouted Bolton, in a sudden fury. "You've been courting my daughter--don't try to crawl out of it, nowyou know what I am. I'll not stand in the way, I tell you. Why, thedevil--"

He stopped short, his restless eyes roving over the young man's faceand figure:

"Oh, I see!" he sneered. "I begin to understand: 'the sanctity of thecloth'--'my sacred calling'-- Yes, yes! And perhaps my price seems abit high: ten thousand dollars--"

Elliot sprang from his chair and stood over the cringing figure ofthe ex-convict. 

"I could strike you, " he said in a smothered voice; "but you are anold man and--not responsible. You don't understand what you've said, perhaps; and I'll not try to make you see it as I do. "

"I supposed you were fond of my girl, " mumbled Bolton. "I heard youtell her--"

But the look in the younger man's eyes stopped him. His hand soughthis heart in an uncertain gesture. 

"Have you any brandy?" he asked feebly. "I--I'm not well. .. . Nomatter; I'll go over to the tavern. I'll have them take me home. Tired, after all this; don't feel like walking. "

Chapter XX

The minister from the doorstep of the parsonage watched the stoopedfigure as it shambled down the street. The rain was still falling intorrents. The thought crossed his mind that the old man might not beable to compass the two miles or more of country road. Then he gotinto his raincoat and followed. 

"My umbrella isn't of the best, " he said, as he overtook the toilingfigure; "but I should have offered it. "

Andrew Bolton muttered something unintelligible, as he glanced up atthe poor shelter the young man held over him. As he did not offer toavail himself of it the minister continued to walk at his side, accommodating his long free stride to the curious shuffling gait ofthe man who had spent eighteen years in prison. And so they passedthe windowed fronts of the village houses, peering out from thedripping autumnal foliage like so many watchful eyes, till the hoarsesignal of a motor car halted them, as they were about to cross thestreet in front of the Brookville House. 

From the open door of the car Lydia Orr's pale face looked out. 

"Oh, father, " she said. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

She did not appear to see the minister. 

Bolton stepped into the car with a grunt. 

"Glad to see the old black Maria, for once, " he chuckled. "Don't yourecognize the parson, my dear? Nice fellow--the parson; been havingquite a visit with him at the manse. Old stamping-ground of mine, youknow. Always friendly with the parson. "

Wesley Elliot had swept the hat from his head. Lydia's eyes, blue andwide like those of a frightened child, met his with an anguishedquestion. 

He bowed gravely. 

"I should have brought him home quite safe, " he told her. "I intendedordering a carriage. "

The girl's lips shaped formal words of gratitude. Then the obedienthumming of the motor deepened to a roar and the car glided swiftlyaway. 

On the opposite corner, her bunched skirts held high, stood Miss LoisDaggett. 

"Please wait a minute, Mr. Elliot, " she called. "I'll walk rightalong under your umbrella, if you don't mind. "

Wesley Elliot bowed and crossed the street. "Certainly, " he said. 

"I don't know why I didn't bring my own umbrella this morning, " saidMiss Daggett with a keen glance at Elliot. "That old man stopped inthe library awhile ago, and he rather frightened me. He looked veryodd and talked so queer. Did he come to the parsonage?"

"Yes, " said Wesley Elliot. "He came to the parsonage?"

"Did he tell you who he was?"

He had expected this question. But how should he answer it?

"He told me he had been ill for a long time, " said the ministerevasively. 

"Ill!" repeated Miss Daggett shrilly. Then she said one word:"Insane. "

"People who are insane are not likely to mention it, " said Elliot. 

"Then he is insane, " said Miss Daggett with conviction. 

Wesley looked at her meditatively. Would the truth, the whole truth, openly proclaimed, be advisable at this juncture, he wondered. Lydiacould not hope to keep her secret long. And there was danger in herattempt. He shuddered as he remembered the man's terrible words, "Twice I have been tempted to knock her down when she stood betweenme and the door. " Would it not be better to abandon this pretensesooner, rather than later? If the village knew the truth, would notthe people show at least a semblance of kindness to the man who hadexpiated so bitterly the wrong he had done them?

"If the man is insane, " Miss Daggett said, "it doesn't seem right tome to have him at large. "

"I wish I knew what to do, " said Elliot. 

"I think you ought to tell what you know if the man is insane. "

"Well, I will tell, " said Elliot, almost fiercely. "That man isAndrew Bolton. He has come home after eighteen years of imprisonment, which have left him terribly weak in mind and body. Don't you thinkpeople will forgive him now?"

A swift vindictiveness flashed into the woman's face. "I don't know, "said she. 

"Why in the world don't you know, Miss Daggett?"

Then the true reason for the woman's rancor was disclosed. It was areason as old as the human race, a suspicion as old as the humanrace, which she voiced. "I have said from the first, " she declared, "that nobody would come here, as that girl did, and do so much unlessshe had a motive. "

Elliot stared at her. "Then you hate that poor child for trying tomake up for the wrong her father did; and that, and not hiswrongdoing, influences you?"

Miss Daggett stared at him. Her face slowly reddened. "I wouldn't putit that way, " she said. 

"What way would you put it?" demanded Elliot mercilessly. He was sofurious that he forgot to hold the umbrella over Miss Daggett, andthe rain drove in her hard, unhappy face. She did not seem to notice. She had led a poisoned life, in a narrow rut of existence, and toxicemotions had become as her native atmosphere of mind. Now she seemedto be about to breathe in a better air of humanity, and she chokedunder it. 

"If--" she stammered, "that was--her reason, but--I always felt--thatnobody ever did such things without--as they used to say--an ax togrind. "

"This seems to me a holy sort of ax, " said Elliot grimly, "and onefor which a Christian woman should certainly not fling stones. "

They had reached the Daggett house. The woman stopped short. "Youneedn't think I'm going around talking, any more than you would, " shesaid, and her voice snapped like a whip. She went up the steps, andElliot went home, not knowing whether he had accomplished good ormischief. 

Chapter XXI

Much to Mrs. Solomon Black's astonishment, Wesley Elliot ate nodinner that day. It was his habit to come in from a morning's workwith a healthy young appetite keen-set for her beef and vegetables. He passed directly up to his room, although she called to him thatdinner was ready. Finally she went upstairs and knocked smartly onhis door. 

"Dinner's ready, Mr. Elliot, " she called out. 

"I don't want any today, thank you, Mrs. Black, " was his reply. 

"You ain't sick?"

"Oh, no, only not hungry. "

Mrs. Black was alarmed when, later in the afternoon, she heard thefront door slam, and beheld from a front window Elliot striding downthe street. The rain had ceased falling, and there were ragged holesin the low-hanging clouds which revealed glimpses of dazzling blue. 

"I do hope he ain't coming down with a fever or something, " Mrs. Black said aloud. Then she saw Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Lois Daggett, Mrs. Fulsom, and the wife of the postmaster approaching her house inthe opposite direction. All appeared flushed and agitated, and Mrs. Black hastened to open her door, as she saw them hurrying up her wetgravel path. 

"Is the minister home?" demanded Lois Daggett breathlessly. "I wanthe should come right down here and tell you what he told me thisnoon. Abby Daggett seems to think I made it up out of whole cloth. Don't deny it, Abby. You know very well you said. .. . I s'pose ofcourse he's told you, Mrs. Black. "

"Mr. Elliot has gone out, " said Mrs. Black rather coldly. 

"Where's he gone?" demanded Lois. 

Mrs. Black was being devoured with curiosity; still she felt vaguelyrepelled. 

"Ladies, " she said, her air of reserve deepening. "I don't know whatyou are talking about, but Mr. Elliot didn't eat any dinner, and heis either sick or troubled in his mind. "

"There! Now you c'n all see from that!" triumphed Lois Daggett. 

Mrs. Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Judge Fulsom gazed incredulously at Mrs. Solomon Black, then at one another. 

Abby Daggett, the soft round of her beautiful, kind face flushed andtremulous, murmured: "Poor man--poor man!"

Mrs. Solomon Black with a masterly gesture headed the women towardher parlor, where a fire was burning in a splendidly nickeled stovefull five feet high. 

"Now, " said she; "we'll talk this over, whatever it is. "

Chapter XXII

A mile from town, where the angry wind could be seen at work tearingthe purple rainclouds into rags and tatters, through which the hiddensun shot long rays of pale splendor, Wesley Elliot was walkingrapidly, his head bent, his eyes fixed and absent. 

He had just emerged from one of those crucial experiences of life, which, more than the turning of the earth upon its axis, serve to agea human being. For perhaps the first time in the brief span of hisremembrance, he had scrutinized himself in the pitiless light of anintelligence higher than his own everyday consciousness; and thesight of that meaner self, striving to run to cover, had not beenpleasant. Just why his late interview with Andrew Bolton should haveprecipitated this event, he could not possibly have explained to anyone--and least of all to himself. He had begun, logically enough, with an illuminating review of the motives which led him into theministry; they were a sorry lot, on the whole; but his subsequentambitions appeared even worse. For the first time, he perceived hisown consummate selfishness set over against the shining renunciationsof his mother. Then, step by step, he followed his career inBrookville: his smug satisfaction in his own good looks; his shallowpride and vanity over the vapid insincerities he had perpetratedSunday after Sunday in the shabby pulpit of the Brookville church;his Pharisaical relations with his people; his utter misunderstandingof their needs. All this proved poignant enough to force the bigdrops to his forehead. .. . There were other aspects of himself atwhich he scarcely dared look in his utter abasement of spirit; thosedark hieroglyphics of the beast-self which appear on the whitestsoul. He had supposed himself pure and saintly because, forsooth, hehad concealed the arena of these primal passions beneath the surfaceof this outward life, chaining them there like leashed tigers in thedark. .. . Two faces of women appeared to be looking on, while hestrove to unravel the snarl of his self-knowledge. Lydia's unworldlyface, wearing a faint nimbus of unimagined self-immolation, andFanny's--full of love and solicitude, the face which he had almostdetermined to forget. 

He was going to Lydia. Every newly awakened instinct of his manhoodbade him go. 

She came to him at once, and without pretense of concealment began tospeak of her father. She trembled a little as she asked:

"He told you who he was?"

Without waiting for his answer she gravely corrected herself. 

"I should have said, who _we_ are. "

She smiled a faint apology:

"I have always been called Lydia Orr; it was my mother's name. I wasadopted into my uncle's family, after father--went to prison. "

Her blue eyes met his pitying gaze without evasion. 

"I am glad you know, " she said. "I think I shall be glad--to haveevery one know. I meant to tell them all, at first. But when Ifound--"

"I know, " he said in a low voice. 

Then because as yet he had said nothing to comfort her, or himself;and because every word that came bubbling to the surface appearedbanal and inadequate, he continued silent, gazing at her andmarveling at her perfect serenity--her absolute poise. 

"It will be a relief, " she sighed, "When every one knows. He dislikesto be watched. I have been afraid--I could not bear to have him knowhow they hate him. "

"Perhaps, " he forced himself to say, "they will not hate him, whenthey know how you-- Lydia, you are wonderful!"

She looked up startled and put out her hand as if to prevent him fromspeaking further. 

But the words came in a torrent now:

"How you must despise me! I despise myself. I am not worthy, Lydia;but if you can care--"

"Stop!" she said softly, as if she would lay the compelling finger ofsilence upon his lips. "I told you I was not like other women. Can'tyou see--?"

"You must marry me, " he urged, in a veritable passion of self-giving. "I want to help you! You will let me, Lydia?"

She shook her head. 

"You could not help me; I am better alone. "

She looked at him, the glimmer of a smile dawning in her eyes. 

"You do not love me, " she said; "nor I you. You are my friend. Youwill remain my friend, I hope?"

She arose and held out her hand. He took it without a word. And sothey stood for a moment; each knowing without need of speech what theother was thinking; the man sorry and ashamed because he could notdeny the truth of her words; and she compassionately willing to drawthe veil of a soothing silence over his hurts. 

"I ought to tell you--" he began. 

But she shook her head:

"No need to tell me anything. "

"You mean, " he said bitterly, "that you saw through my shallowpretenses all the while. I know now how you must have despised me. "

"Is it nothing that you have asked me--a convict's daughter--to beyour wife?" she asked. "Do you think I don't know that some men wouldhave thanked heaven for their escape and never spoken to me again? Ican't tell you how it has helped to hearten me for what must come. Ishall not soon forget that you offered me your self--your career; itwould have cost you that. I want you to know how much I--appreciatewhat you have done, in offering me the shelter of an honest name. "

He would have uttered some unavailing words of protest, but shechecked him. 

"We shall both be glad of this, some day, " she predicted gravely. .. . "There is one thing you can do for me, " she added: "Tell them. Itwill be best for both of us, now. "

It was already done, he said, explaining his motives in short, disjointed sentences. 

Then with a feeling of relief which he strove to put down, but whichnevertheless persisted in making itself felt in a curious lighteningof his spirits, he was again walking rapidly and without thought ofhis destination. Somber bars of crimson and purple crossed the west, and behind them, flaming up toward the zenith in a passionatesplendor of light, streamed long, golden rays from out the heart ofthat glory upon which no human eye may look. The angry wind hadfallen to quiet, and higher up, floating in a sea of purest violet, those despised and flouted rags of clouds were seen, magicallychanged to rose and silver. 

Chapter XXIII

Fanny Dodge sat by the pleasant west window of the kitchen, engagedin reading those aimless shreds of local information which usuallymake up the outside pages of the weekly newspaper. She could notpossibly feel the slightest interest in the fact that Mr. And Mrs. James M. Snider of West Schofield were entertaining a daughter, whosenet weight was reported to be nine and three quarters pounds; or thatMiss Elizabeth Wardwell of Eltingville had just issued beautifullyengraved invitations to her wedding, which was to take place on theseventeenth day of October--yet she went on reading. Everybody readthe paper. Sometimes they talked about what they read. Anyway, herwork was over for the day--all except tea, which was negligible; soshe went on, somewhat drearily suppressing a yawn, to a descriptionof the new water-works, which were being speedily brought tocompletion in "our neighboring enterprising town of Brookville. "

Fanny already knew all there was to tell concerning the concretereservoir on the mountain, the big conduit leading to the village andthe smaller pipes laid wherever there were householders desiringwater. These were surprisingly few, considering the fact that therewould be no annual charge for the water, beyond the insignificant sumrequired for its up-keep. People said their wells were good enoughfor them; and that spring water wasn't as good as cistern water, whenit came to washing. Some were of the opinion that Lydia Orr was in afool's hurry to get rid of her money; others that she couldn't standit to be out of the limelight; and still other sagacious individualsfelt confident there was something in it for "that girl. " Fanny hadheard these various views of Miss Orr's conduct. She was stillstriving with indifferent success to rise above her jealousy, and tothis end she never failed to champion Lydia's cause against allcomers. Curiously enough, this course had finally brought hertranquillity of a sort and an utter unprotesting acquiescence. 

Mrs. Whittle had been overheard saying to Mrs. Fulsom that sheguessed, after all, Fanny Dodge didn't care so much about theminister. 

Fanny, deep once more in the absorbing consideration of the questionwhich had once been too poignant to consider calmly, and the answerto which she was never to know, permitted the paper to slide off herknee to the floor: Why had Wesley Elliot so suddenly deserted her?Surely, he could not have fallen in love with another woman; she wassure he had been in love with her. However, to kiss and forget mightbe one of the inscrutable ways of men. She was really afraid it was. But Wesley Elliot had never kissed her; had never even held her handfor more than a minute at a time. But those minutes loomed large inretrospect. 

The clock struck five and Fanny, roused from her reverie by thesudden sound, glanced out of the window. At the gate she saw Elliot. He stood there, gazing at the house as if uncertain whether to enteror not. Fanny put up a tremulous hand to her hair, which was pinnedfast in its accustomed crisp coils; then she glanced down at her bluegown. .. . Yes; he was coming in! The bell hanging over the passagedoor jangled shrilly. Fanny stood stock-still in the middle of thefloor, staring at it. There was no fire in the parlor. She would beforced to bring him out to the kitchen. She thought of the wide, luxuriously furnished rooms of Bolton house and unconsciously herface hardened. She might pretend she did not hear the bell. She mightallow him to go away, thinking none of the family were at home. Shepictured him, standing there on the doorstep facing the closed door;and a perverse spirit held her silent, while the clock tickedresoundingly. Then all at once with a smothered cry she hurriedthrough the hall, letting the door fall to behind her with a loudslam. 

He was waiting patiently on the doorstep, as she had pictured him;and before a single word had passed between them she knew that thestone had been rolled away. His eyes met hers, not indeed with theold look, but with another, incomprehensible, yet wonderfullysoul-satisfying. 

"I wanted to tell you about it, before it came to you from theoutside, " he said, when they had settled themselves in the warm, silent kitchen. 

His words startled Fanny. Was he going to tell her of his approachingmarriage to Lydia? Her color faded, and a look of almost piteousresignation drooped the corners of her mouth. She strove to collecther scattered wits, to frame words of congratulation with which tomeet the dreaded avowal. 

He appeared in no hurry to begin; but bent forward, his eyes upon herchanging face. 

"Perhaps you know, already, " he reflected. "She may have told yourbrother. "

"Are you speaking of Miss Orr?"

Her voice sounded strange in her own ears. 

"Yes, " he said slowly. "But I suppose one should give her herrightful name, from now on. "

"I--I hadn't heard, " said Fanny, feeling her hard-won courageslipping from her. "Jim didn't tell me. But of course I amnot--surprised. "

He evidently experienced something of the emotion she had justdenied. 

"No one seemed to have guessed it, " he said. "But now everything isplain. Poor girl!"

He fell into a fit of musing, which he finally broke to say:

"I thought you would go to see her. She sorely needs friends. "

"She has--you, " said Fanny in a smothered voice. 

For the life of her she could not withhold that one lightning flashout of her enveloping cloud. 

He disclaimed her words with a swift gesture. 

"I'm not worthy to claim her friendship, nor yours, " he said humbly;"but I hope you--sometime you may be able to forgive me, Fanny. "

"I don't think I understand what you have come to tell me, " she saidwith difficulty. 

"The village is ringing with the news. She wanted every one to know;her father has come home. "

"Her father!"

"Ah, you didn't guess, after all. I think we were all blind. AndrewBolton has come back to Brookville, a miserable, broken man. "

"But you said--her father. Do you mean that Lydia Orr--"

"It wasn't a deliberate deception on her part, " he interruptedquickly. "She has always been known as Lydia Orr. It was her mother'sname. "

Fanny despised herself for the unreasoning tumult of joy which surgedup within her. He could not possibly marry Andrew Bolton's daughter!

He was watching her closely. 

"I thought perhaps, if she consented, I would marry Lydia Orr, " heforced himself to tell her. "I want you to know this from me, now. Idecided that her money and her position would help me. .. . I admiredher; I even thought at one time I--loved her. I tried to love her. .. . I am not quite so base as to marry without love. .. . But she knew. Shetried to save me. .. . Then her father--that wretched, ruined man cameto me. He told me everything. .. . Fanny, that girl is a saint!"

His eyes were inscrutable under their somber brows. The girl sittingstiffly erect, every particle of color drained from her young face, watched him with something like terror. Why was he telling herthis?--Why? Why?

His next words answered her:

"I can conceive of no worse punishment than having you think ill ofme. " . .. And after a pause: "I deserve everything you may be tellingyourself. "

But coherent thought had become impossible for Fanny. 

"Why don't you marry her?" she asked clearly. 

"Oh, I asked her. I knew I had been a cad to both of you. I asked herall right. "

Fanny's fingers, locked rigidly in her lap, did not quiver. Her blueeyes were wide and strange, but she tried to smile. 

His voice, harsh and hesitating, went on: "She refused me, of course. She had known all along what I was. She said she did not love me;that I did not love her--which was God's truth. I wanted to atone. You see that, don't you?"

He looked at Fanny and started. 

"My God, Fanny!" he cried. "I have made you suffer too!"

"Never mind me. "

"Fanny, can you love me and be my wife after all this?"

"I am a woman, " said Fanny. Her eyes blazed angrily at him. Then shelaughed and put up her mouth to be kissed. 

"Men will make fools of women till the Day of Judgment, " said she, and laughed again. 

Chapter XXIV

When the afternoon mail came in that day, Mr. Henry Daggett retiredbehind his official barrier according to his wont, leaving the storein charge of Joe Whittle, the Deacon's son. It had been diligentlypointed out to Joe by his thrifty parents that all rich men beganlife by sweeping out stores and other menial tasks, and for some timeJoe had been working for Mr. Daggett with doubtful alacrity. 

Joe liked the store. There was a large stock of candy, dried fruit, crackers and pickles; Joe was a hungry boy, and Mr. Daggett had toldhim he could eat what he wished. He was an easy-going man with nochildren of his own, and he took great delight in pampering theDeacon's son. "I told him he could eat candy and things, and helooked tickled to death, " he told his wife. 

"He'll get his stomach upset, " objected Mrs. Daggett. 

"He can't eat the whole stock, " said Daggett, "and upsetting a boy'sstomach is not much of an upset anyway. It don't take long to rightit. "

Once in a while Daggett would suggest to Joe that if he were in hisplace he wouldn't eat too much of that green candy. He supposed itwas pure; he didn't mean to sell any but pure candy if he knew it, but it might be just as well for him to go slow. Generally he took apaternal delight in watching the growing boy eat his stock in trade. 

That afternoon Joe was working on a species of hard sweet whichdistended his cheeks, and nearly deprived him temporarily of thepower of speech, while the people seeking their mail came in. Therewas never much custom while mail-sorting was going on, and Joe suckedblissfully. 

Then Jim Dodge entered and spoke to him. "Hullo, Joe, " he said. 

Joe nodded, speechless. 

Jim seated himself on a stool, and lit his pipe. 

Joe eyed him. Jim was a sort of hero to him on account of his huntingfame. As soon as he could control his tongue, he addressed him:

"Heard the news?" said he, trying to speak like a man. 

"What news?"

"Old Andrew Bolton's got out of prison and come back. He's crazy, too. "

"How did you get hold of such nonsense?"

"Heard the women talking. "

Jim pondered a moment. Then he said "Damn, " and Joe admired him asnever before. When Jim had gone out, directly, Joe shook his fist ata sugar barrel, and said "Damn, " in a whisper. 

Jim in the meantime was hurrying along the road to the Bolton house. He made up his mind that he must see Lydia. He must know if she hadauthorized the revelation that had evidently been made, and if so, through whom. He suspected the minister, and was hot with jealousy. His own friendship with Lydia seemed to have suffered a blight afterthat one confidential talk of theirs, in which she had afforded him aglimpse of her sorrowful past. She had not alluded to the subject asecond time; and, somehow, he had not been able to get behind thedefenses of her smiling cheerfulness. Always she was with her father, it seemed; and the old man, garrulous enough when alone, wasinvariably silent and moody in his daughter's company. One mightalmost have said he hated her, from the sneering impatient looks hecast at her from time to time. As for Lydia, she was all love andbrooding tenderness for the man who had suffered so long andterribly. 

"He'll be better after a while, " she constantly excused him. "Heneeds peace and quiet and home to restore him to himself. "

"You want to look out for him, " Jim had ventured to warn the girl, when the two were alone together for a moment. 

"Do you mean father?" Lydia asked. "What else should I do? It is allI live for--just to look out for father. "

Had she been a martyr bound to the stake, the faggots piled about herslim body, her face might have worn just that expression of highresignation and contempt for danger and suffering. 

The young man walked slowly on. He wanted time to think. Besides--heglanced down with a quick frown of annoyance at his mud-splashedclothing--he certainly cut a queer figure for a call. 

Some one was standing on the doorstep talking to Fanny, as heapproached his own home. Another instant and he had recognized WesleyElliot. He stopped behind a clump of low-growing trees, and watched. Fanny, framed in the dark doorway, glowed like a rose. Jim saw herbend forward, smiling; saw the minister take both her hands in hisand kiss them; saw Fanny glance quickly up and down the empty road, as if apprehensive of a chance passerby. Then the minister, hishandsome head bared to the cold wind, waved her farewell and startedat a brisk pace down the road. 

Jim waited till the door had closed lingeringly on the girl; then hestepped forth from his concealment and waited. 

Abreast of him Elliot stopped; aware, it would seem, of the menace inthe other man's eyes. 

"You wished to speak with me?" he began. 

"Speak with you--no! I want to kick you. "

The minister eyed him indignantly. "What do you mean?"

"You sneaking hypocrite! do you think I don't know what has happened?You threw Fanny down, when Lydia Orr came to town; you thought mysister wasn't good enough--nor rich enough for a handsome, eloquentclergyman like you. But when you learned her father was a convict--"

"Stop!" cried Elliot. "You don't understand!"

"I don't? Well, I guess I come pretty near it. And not content withtelling Lydia's pitiful secret to all the busybodies in town, youcome to Fanny with your smug explanations. My God! I could kill you!"

The minister's face had hardened during this speech. 

"See here, " he said. "You are going too far. "

"Do you deny that you've made love to both my sister and Miss Orr?"demanded Jim. 

Physically the minister was no coward. He measured the slight, wiryfigure of his wrathful opponent with a coolly appraising eye. 

"My relations with Miss Orr are none of your business, " he remindedJim. "As for your sister--"

"Damn you!" cried Jim. 

The minister shrugged his shoulders. 

"If you'll listen to reason, " he suggested pacifically. 

"I saw you kiss my sister's hand! I tell you I'll not have youhanging around the place, after what's gone. You may as wellunderstand it. "

Wesley Elliot reflected briefly. 

"There's one thing you ought to know, " he said, controlling hisdesire to knock Fanny's brother into the bushes. 

A scornful gesture bade him to proceed. 

"Andrew Bolton came to see me in the parsonage this morning. He is aruined man, in every sense of the word. He will never be otherwise. "

Jim Dodge thrust both hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his eyesfixed and frowning. 

"Well, " he murmured; "what of that?"

"That being the case, all we can do is to make the best ofthings--for her. .. . She requested me to make the facts known in thevillage. They would have found out everything from the man himself. He is--perhaps you are aware that Bolton bitterly resents hisdaughter's interference. She would have been glad to spare him thepain of publicity. "

The minister's tone was calm, even judicial; and Jim Dodge suddenlyexperienced a certain flat humiliation of spirit. 

"I didn't know she asked you to tell, " he muttered, kicking a pebbleout of the way. "That puts a different face on it. "

He eyed the minister steadily. 

"I'll be hanged if I can make you out, Elliot, " he said at last. "Youcan't blame me for thinking-- Why did you come here this afternoon, anyway?"

A sudden belated glimmer of comprehension dawned upon the minister. 

"Are you in love with Miss Orr?" he parried. 

"None of your damned business!"

"I was hoping you were, " the minister said quietly. "She needs afriend--one who will stand close, just now. "

"Do you mean--?"

"I am going to marry Fanny. "

"The devil you are!"

The minister smiled and held out his hand. 

"We may as well be friends, Jim, " he said coolly, "seeing we're to bebrothers. "

The young man turned on his heel. 

"I'll have to think that proposition over, " he growled. "It's a bittoo sudden--for me. "

Without another glance in the direction of the minister he marchedtoward the house. Fanny was laying the table, a radiant color in herface. A single glance told her brother that she was happy. He threwhimself into a chair by the window. 

"Where's mother?" he asked presently, pretending to ignore theexcited flutter of the girl's hands as she set a plate of bread onthe table. 

"She hasn't come back from the village yet, " warbled Fanny. Shecouldn't keep the joy in her soul from singing. 

"Guess I'll eat my supper and get out. I don't want to hear a word ofgossip. "

Fanny glanced up, faltered, then ran around the table and threw herarms about Jim's neck. 

"Oh, Jim!" she breathed, "you've seen him!"

"Worse luck!" grumbled Jim. 

He held his sister off at arm's length and gazed at her fixedly. 

"What you see in that chap, " he murmured. "Well--"

"Oh, Jim, he's wonderful!" cried Fanny, half laughing, half crying, and altogether lovely. 

"I suppose you think so. But after the way he's treated you-- ByGeorge, Fan! I can't see--"

Fanny drew herself up proudly. 

"Of course I haven't talked much about it, Jim, " she said, withdignity; "but Wesley and I had a--a little misunderstanding. It's allexplained away now. "

And to this meager explanation she stubbornly adhered, throughsubsequent soul-searching conversations with her mother, and duringthe years of married life that followed. In time she came to believeit, herself; and the "little misunderstanding with Wesley" and itsromantic dénouement became a well-remembered milestone, wreathed withsentiment. 

But poised triumphant on this pinnacle of joy, she yet had time tothink of another than herself. 

"Jim, " said she, a touch of matronly authority already apparent inher manner. "I've wanted for a long time to talk to you seriouslyabout Ellen. "

Jim stared. 

"About Ellen?" he repeated. 

"Jim, she's awfully fond of you. I think you've treated her cruelly. "

"Look here, Fan, " said Jim, "don't you worry yourself about EllenDix. She's not in love with me, and never was. "

Having thus spoken, Jim would not say another word. He gulped downhis supper and was off. He kissed Fanny when he went. 

"Hope you'll be happy, and all that, " he told her rather awkwardly. Fanny looked after him swinging down the road. "I guess it's allright between him and Ellen, " she thought. 

Chapter XXV

Jim had no definite plan as he tramped down the road in the fallingdarkness. He felt uncertain and miserable as he speculated withregard to Lydia. She could not guess at half the unkind things peoplemust be saying; but she would ask for the bread of sympathy and theywould give her a stone. He wished he might carry her away, shieldingher and comforting her against the storm. He knew he would willinglygive his life to make her happier. Of course she did not care forhim. How could she? Who was he--Jim Dodge--to aspire to a girl likeLydia?

The wind had risen again and was driving dark masses of cloud acrossthe sky; in the west a sullen red flared up from behind the hills, touching the lower edges of the vaporous mountains with purple. In asmall, clear space above the red hung the silver sickle of the newmoon, and near it shone a single star. .. . Lydia was like that star, he told himself--as wonderful, as remote. 

There were lights in the windows of Bolton House. Jim stopped andgazed at the yellow squares, something big and powerful rising withinhim. Then, yielding to a sudden impulse, he approached and looked in. In a great armchair before the blazing hearth sat, or rathercrouched, Andrew Bolton. He was wearing a smoking-jacket of crimsonvelvet and a pipe hung from his nerveless fingers. Only the man'seyes appeared alive; they were fixed upon Lydia at the piano. She wasplaying some light tuneful melody, with a superabundance of trillsand runs. Jim did not know Lydia played; and the knowledge of thistrivial accomplishment seemed to put her still further beyond hisreach. He did not know, either, that she had acquired her somewhatindifferent skill after long years of dull practice, and for thesingle purpose of diverting the man, who sat watching her withbright, furtive eyes. .. . Presently she arose from the piano andcrossed the room to his side. She bent over him and kissed him on hisbald forehead, her white hands clinging to his shoulders. Jim saw theman shake off those hands with a rough gesture; saw the grieved lookon her face; saw the man follow her slight figure with his eyes, asshe stooped under pretext of mending the fire. But he could not hearthe words which passed between them. 

"You pretend to love me, " Bolton was saying. "Why don't you do what Iwant you to?"

"If you'd like to go away from Brookville, father, I will go withyou. You need me!"

"That's where you're dead wrong, my girl: I don't need you. What I doneed is freedom! You stifle me with your fussy attentions. Give mesome money; I'll go away and not bother you again. "

Whereat Lydia had cried out--a little hurt cry, which reached theears of the watcher outside. 

"Don't leave me, father! I have no one but you in all the world--noone. "

"And you've never even told me how much money you have, " the man wenton in a whining voice. "There's daughterly affection for you! Byrights it all ought to be mine. I've suffered enough, God knows, todeserve a little comfort now. "

"All that I have is yours, father. I want nothing for myself. "

"Then hand it over--the control of it, I mean. I'll make you ahandsome allowance; and I'll give you this place, too. I don't wantto rot here. .. . Marry that good-looking parson and settle down, ifyou like. I don't want to settle down: been settled in one cursedplace long enough, by gad! I should think you could see that. "

"But you wanted to come home to Brookville, father. Don't youremember you said--"

"That was when I was back there in that hell-hole, and didn't knowwhat I wanted. How could I? I only wanted to get out. That's what Iwant now--to get out and away! If you weren't so damned selfish, you'd let me go. I hate a selfish woman!"

Then it was that Jim Dodge, pressing closer to the long window, heardher say quite distinctly:

"Very well, father; we will go. Only I must go with you. .. . You arenot strong enough to go alone. We will go anywhere you like. "

Andrew Bolton got nimbly out of his chair and stood glowering at heracross its back. Then he burst into a prolonged fit of laughter mixedwith coughing. 

"Oh, so you'll go with father, will you?" he spluttered. "Youinsist--eh?"

And, still coughing and laughing mirthlessly, he went out of theroom. 

Left to herself, the girl sat down quietly enough before the fire. Her serene face told no story of inward sorrow to the watchful eyesof the man who loved her. Over long she had concealed her feelings, even from herself. She seemed lost in revery, at once sad andprofound. Had she foreseen this dire disappointment of all her hopes, he wondered. 

He stole away at last, half ashamed of spying upon her lonely vigil, yet withal curiously heartened. Wesley Elliot was right: Lydia Orrneeded a friend. He resolved that he would be that friend. 

In the room overhead the light had leapt to full brilliancy. Anuncertain hand pulled the shade down crookedly. As the young manturned for a last look at the house he perceived a shadow hurriedlypassing and repassing the lighted window. Then all at once theshadow, curiously huddled, stooped and was gone. There was somethingsinister in the sudden disappearance of that active shadow. Jim Dodgewatched the vacant window for a long minute; then with a mutteredexclamation walked on toward the village. 

Chapter XXVI

In the barroom of the Brookville House the flaring kerosene lamp litup a group of men and half-grown boys, who had strayed in out of thechill darkness to warm themselves around the great stove in themiddle of the floor. The wooden armchairs, which in summer made aforum of the tavern's side piazza, had been brought in and ranged ina wide semicircle about the stove, marking the formal opening of thewinter session. In the central chair sat the large figure of JudgeFulsom, puffing clouds of smoke from a calabash pipe; his twinklingeyes looking forth over his fat, creased cheeks roved impartiallyabout the circle of excited faces. 

"I can understand all right about Andrew Bolton's turning up, " oneman was saying. "He was bound to turn up sooner or later. I seen himmyself, day before yesterday, going down street. Thinks I, 'Who canthat be?' There was something kind of queer about the way he draggedhis feet. What you going to do about it, Judge? Have we got to put upwith having a jailbird, as crazy as a loon into the bargain, livingright here in our midst?"

"In luxury and idleness, like he was a captain of industry, " drawledanother man who was eating hot dog and sipping beer. "That's whatstrikes me kind of hard, Judge, in luxury and idleness, while therest of us has to work. "

Judge Fulsom gave an inarticulate grunt and smoked on imperturbably. 

"Set down, boys; set down, " ordered a small man in a red sweaterunder a corduroy coat. "Give the Jedge a chance! He ain't going todeliver no opinion whilst you boys are rammaging around. Set down andlet the Jedge take th' floor. "

A general scraping of chair legs and a shuffling of uneasy feetfollowed this exhortation; still no word from the huge, impassivefigure in the central chair. The oily-faced young man behind the barimproved the opportunity by washing a dozen or so glasses, settingthem down showily on a tin tray in view of the company. 

"Quit that noise, Cholley!" exhorted the small man in the redsweater; "we want order in the court room--eh, Jedge?"

"What I'd like to know is where she got all that money of hers, "piped an old man, with a mottled complexion and bleary eyes. 

"Sure enough; where'd she get it?" chimed in half a dozen voices atonce. 

"She's Andrew Bolton's daughter, " said the first speaker. "And she'sbeen setting up for a fine lady, doing stunts for charity. How aboutour town hall an' our lov-elly library, an' our be-utiful drinkingfountain, and the new shingles on our church roof? You don't want toask too many questions, Lute. "

"Don't I?" cried the man, who was eating hot dog. "You all know _me!_I ain't a-going to stand for no grab-game. If she's got money, it'smore than likely the old fox salted it down before they ketched him. It's our money; that's whose money 'tis, if you want to know!"

And he swallowed his mouthful with a slow, menacing glance whichswept the entire circle. 

"Now, Lucius, " began Judge Fulsom, removing the pipe from his mouth, "go slow! No use in talk without proof. "

"But what have you got to say, Jedge? Where'd she get all that moneyshe's been flamming about with, and that grand house, better thannew, with all the latest improvements. Wa'n't we some jays to be tookin like we was by a little, white-faced chit like her? Couldn't seethrough a grindstone with a hole in it! Bolton House. .. . And anautomobile to fetch the old jailbird home in. Wa'n't it love-ly?"

A low growl ran around the circle. 

"Durn you, Lute! Don't you see the Jedge has something to say?"demanded the man behind the bar. 

Judge Fulsom slowly tapped his pipe on the arm of his chair. "If youall will keep still a second and let me speak, " he began. 

"I want my rights, " interrupted a man with a hoarse crow. 

"Your rights!" shouted the Judge. "You've got no right to a damnedthing but a good horsewhipping!"

"I've got my rights to the money other folks are keeping, I'll letyou know!"

Then the Judge fairly bellowed, as he got slowly to his feet:

"I tell you once for all, the whole damned lot of you, " he shouted, "that every man, woman and child in Brookville has been paid, compensated, remunerated and requited in full for every cent he, sheor it lost in the Andrew Bolton bank failure. "

There was a snarl of dissent. 

"You all better go slow, and hold your tongues, and mind your ownbusiness. Remember what I say; that girl does not owe a red cent inthis town, neither does her father. She's paid in full, and you'vespent a lot of it in here, too!" The Judge wiped his red face. 

"Oh, come on, Jedge; you don't want to be hard on the house, "protested the man in the red sweater, waving his arms as franticallyas a freight brakeman. "Say, you boys! don't ye git excited! TheJedge didn't mean that; you got him kind of het up with argufying. .. . Down in front, boys! You, Lute--"

But it was too late: half a dozen voices were shouting at once. Therewas a simultaneous descent upon the bar, with loud demands for liquorof the sort Lute Parsons filled up on. Then the raucous voice of theringleader pierced the tumult. 

"Come on, boys! Let's go out to the old place and get our rights offthat gal of Bolton's!"

"That's th' stuff, Lute!" yelled the others, clashing their glasseswildly. "Come on! Come on, everybody!"

In vain Judge Fulsom hammered on the bar and called for order in thecourt room. The majesty of the law, as embodied in his great bulk, appeared to have lost its power. Even his faithful henchman in thered sweater had joined the rioters and was yelling wildly for hisrights. Somebody flung wide the door, and the barroom emptied itselfinto the night, leaving the oily young man at his post of duty gazingfearfully at the purple face of Judge Fulsom, who stood staring, asif stupefied, at the overturned chairs, the broken glasses and theempty darkness outside. 

"Say, Jedge, them boys was sure some excited, " ventured the bartendertimidly. "You don't s'pose--"

The big man put himself slowly into motion. 

"I'll get th' constable, " he growled. "I--I'll run 'em in; and I'llgive Lute Parsons the full extent of the law, if it's the last thingI do on earth. I--I'll teach them!--I'll give them all they'relookin' for. "

And he, too, went out, leaving the door swinging in the cold wind. 

At the corner, still meditating vengeance for this affront to hisdignity, Judge Fulsom almost collided with the hurrying figure of aman approaching in the opposite direction. 

"Hello!" he challenged sharply. "Where you goin' so fast, my friend?"

"Evening, Judge, " responded the man, giving the other a wide margin. 

"Oh, it's Jim Dodge--eh? Say, Jim, did you meet any of the boys onthe road?"

"What boys?"

"Why, we got into a little discussion over to the Brookville Houseabout this Andrew Bolton business--his coming back unexpected, youknow; and some of the boys seemed to think they hadn't got all thatwas coming to them by rights. Lute Parsons he gets kind of worked upafter about three or four glasses, and he sicked the boys onto goingout there, and--"

"Going out--where? In the name of Heaven, what do you mean, Judge?"

"I told 'em to keep cool and-- Say, don't be in a hurry, Jim. I hadan awful good mind to call out Hank Simonson to run a few of 'em in. But I dunno as the boys'll do any real harm. They wouldn't dare. Theyknow _me_, and they know--"

"Do you mean that drunken mob was headed for Bolton House? Why, GoodLord, man, she's there practically alone!"

"Well, perhaps you'd better see if you can get some help, " began theJudge, whose easy-going disposition was already balking at effort. 

But Jim Dodge, shouting back a few trenchant directions, had alreadydisappeared, running at top speed. 

There was a short cut to Bolton House, across plowed fields andthrough a patch of woodland. Jim Dodge ran all the way, wading abrook, swollen with the recent rains, tearing his way throughthickets of brush and bramble, the twinkling lights in the top storyof the distant house leading him on. Once he paused for an instant, thinking he heard the clamor of rude voices borne on the wind; thenplunged forward again, his flying feet seemingly weighted with lead;and all the while an agonizing picture of Lydia, white and helpless, facing the crowd of drunken men flitted before his eyes. 

Now he had reached the wall at the rear of the gardens; had clamberedover it, dropping to his feet in the midst of a climbing rose whichclutched at him with its thorny branches; had run across an acre ofkitchen garden and leaped the low-growing hedge which divided it fromthe sunken flower garden he had made for Lydia. Here were morerosebushes and an interminable space broken by walks and a sundial, masked by shrubs, with which he collided violently. There was nomistaking the clamor from the front of the house; the rioters hadreached their quarry first! Not stopping to consider what one man, single-handed and unarmed, could do against a score of drunkenopponents, the young man rounded the corner of the big house just asthe door was flung wide and the slim figure of Lydia stood outlinedagainst the bright interior. 

"What do you want, men?" she called out, in her clear, fearlessvoice. "What has happened?"

There was a confused murmur of voices in reply. Most of the men weredecent enough fellows, when sober. Some one was heard to suggest aretreat: "No need to scare the young lady. 'Tain't her fault!"

"Aw! shut up, you coward!" shouted another. "We want our money!"

"Where did you get yer money?" demanded a third. "You tell us that, young woman. That's what we're after!"

"Where's the old thief? . .. We want Andrew Bolton!"

Then from somewhere in the darkness a pebble flung by a reckless handshattered a pane of glass. At sound of the crash all pretense ofdecency and order seemed abandoned. The spirit of the pack brokeloose!

Just what happened from the moment when he leaped upon the portico, wrenching loose a piece of iron pipe which formed the support of agiant wistaria, Jim Dodge could never afterward recall in precisedetail. A sort of wild rage seized him; he struck right and leftamong the dark figures swarming up the steps. There were cries, shouts, curses, flying stones; then he had dragged Lydia inside andbolted the heavy door between them and the ugly clamor without. 

She faced him where he stood, breathing hard, his back against thebarred door. 

"They were saying--" she whispered, her face still and white. "MyGod! What do they think I've done?"

"They're drunk, " he explained. "It was only a miserable rabble fromthe barroom in the village. But if you'd been here alone--!"

She shook her head. 

"I recognized the man who spoke first; his name is Parsons. Therewere others, too, who worked on the place here in the summer. .. . Theyhave heard?"

He nodded, unable to speak because of something which rose in histhroat choking him. Then he saw a thin trickle of red oozing fromunder the fair hair above her temple, and the blood hammered in hisears. 

"You are hurt!" he said thickly. "The devils struck you!"

"It's nothing--a stone, perhaps. "

Something in the sorrowful look she gave him broke down the flimsybarrier between them. 

"Lydia--Lydia!" he cried, holding out his arms. 

She clung to him like a child. They stood so for a moment, listeningto the sounds from without. There were still occasional shouts andthe altercation of loud, angry voices; but this was momently growingfainter; presently it died away altogether. 

She stirred in his arms and he stooped to look into her face. 

"I--Father will be frightened, " she murmured, drawing away from himwith a quick decided movement. "You must let me go. "

"Not until I have told you, Lydia! I am poor, rough--not worthy totouch you--but I love you with my whole heart and soul, Lydia. Youmust let me take care of you. You need me, dear. "

Tears overflowed her eyes, quiet, patient tears; but she answeredsteadily. 

"Can't you see that I--I am different from other women? I have onlyone thing to live for. I must go to him. .. . You had forgotten--him. "

In vain he protested, arguing his case with all lover's skill andingenuity. She shook her head. 

"Sometime you will forgive me that one moment of weakness, " she saidsadly. "I was frightened and--tired. "

He followed her upstairs in gloomy silence. The old man, she wastelling him hurriedly, would be terrified. She must reassure him; andtomorrow they would go away together for a long journey. She couldsee now that she had made a cruel mistake in bringing him toBrookville. 

But there was no answer in response to her repeated tapping at hisdoor; and suddenly the remembrance of that stooping shadow came backto him. 

"Let me go in, " he said, pushing her gently aside. 

The lights, turned high in the quiet room, revealed only emptinessand disorder; drawers and wardrobes pulled wide, scattered garmentsapparently dropped at random on chairs and tables. The carpet, drawnaside in one corner, disclosed a shallow aperture in the floor, fromwhich the boards had been lifted. 

"Why-- What?" stammered the girl, all the high courage gone from herface. "What has happened?"

He picked up a box--a common cigar box--from amid the litter ofabandoned clothing. It was quite empty save for a solitary slip ofgreenish paper which had somehow adhered to the bottom. 

Lydia clutched the box in both trembling hands, staring with piteouseyes at the damning evidence of that bit of paper. 

"Money!" she whispered. "He must have hidden it before--before-- Oh, father, father!"

Chapter XXVII

History is said to repeat itself, as if indeed the world were a vastpendulum, swinging between events now inconceivably remote, and againmenacing and near. And if in things great and heroic, so also in theless significant aspects of life. 

Mrs. Henry Daggett stood, weary but triumphant, amid the nearlycompleted preparations for a reception in the new church parlors, herbroad, rosy face wearing a smile of satisfaction. 

"Don't it look nice?" she said, by way of expressing her overflowingcontentment. 

Mrs. Maria Dodge, evergreen wreaths looped over one arm, nodded. 

"It certainly does look fine, Abby, " said she. "And I guess nobodybut you would have thought of having it. "

Mrs. Daggett beamed. "I thought of it the minute I heard about thatcity church that done it. I call it a real tasty way to treat aminister as nice as ours. "

"So 'tis, " agreed Mrs. Dodge with the air of complacent satisfactionshe had acquired since Fanny's marriage to the minister. "And I thinkWesley'll appreciate it. "

Mrs. Daggett's face grew serious. Then her soft bosom heaved withmirth. 

"'Tain't everybody that's lucky enough to have a minister right inthe family, " said she briskly. "Mebbe if I was to hear a sermonpreached every day in the week I'd get some piouser myself. I've beencomparing this with the fair we had last summer. It ain't so grand, but it's newer. A fair's like a work of nature, Maria; sun and rainand dew, and the scrapings from the henyard, all mixed with gardenground to fetch out cabbages, potatoes or roses. God gives theincrease. "

Mrs. Dodge stared at her friend in amazement. 

"That sounds real beautiful, Abby, " she said. "You must have thoughtit all out. "

"That's just what I done, " confirmed Mrs. Daggett happily. "I'malways meditating about something, whilst I'm working 'round th'house. And it's amazing what thoughts'll come to a body fromsomewheres. .. . What you going to do with them wreaths, Maria?"

"Why, I was thinking of putting 'em right up here, " said Mrs. Dodge, pointing. 

"A good place, " said Mrs. Daggett. "Remember Fanny peeking throughthem wreaths last summer? Pretty as a pink! An' now she's Mis'Reveren' Elliot. I seen him looking at her that night. .. . My! My!What lots of things have took place in our midst since then. "

Mrs. Dodge, from the lofty elevation of a stepladder, looked acrossthe room. 

"Here comes Ann Whittle with two baskets, " she said, "and Mrs. Solomon Black carrying a big cake, and a whole crowd of ladies justbehind 'em. "

"Glad they ain't going to be late like they was last year, " said Mrs. Daggett. "My sakes! I hadn't thought so much about that fair tilltoday; the scent of the evergreens brings it all back. We waswondering who'd buy the things; remember, Maria?"

"I should say I did, " assented Mrs. Dodge, hopping nimbly down fromthe ladder. "There, that looks even nicer than it did at the fair;don't you think so, Abby?"

"It looks perfectly lovely, Maria. "

"Well, here we are at last, " announced Mrs. Whittle as she entered. "I had to wait till the frosting stiffened up on my cake. "

She bustled over to a table and began to take the things out of herbaskets. Mrs. Daggett hurried forward to meet Mrs. Solomon Black, whowas advancing with slow majesty, bearing a huge disk covered withtissue paper. 

Mrs. Black was not the only woman in the town of Brookville who couldnow boast sleeves made in the latest Parisian style. Her quick blackeyes had already observed the crisp blue taffeta, in which Mrs. Whittle was attired, and the fresh muslin gowns decked with uncreasedribbons worn by Mrs. Daggett and her friend, Maria Dodge. Mrs. Solomon Black's water-waves were crisp and precise, as of yore, andher hard red cheeks glowed like apples above the elaborate embroideryof her dress. 

"Here, Mis' Black, let me take your cake!" offered Abby Daggett. "Ish'd think your arm would be most broke carryin' it all the way fromyour house. "

"Thank you, Abby; but I wouldn't das' t' resk changin' it; I'll setit right down where it's t' go. "

The brisk chatter and laughter, which by now had prevaded the bigplace, ceased as by a preconcerted signal, and a dozen women gatheredabout the table toward which Mrs. Solomon Black was moving like thecentral figure in some stately pageant. 

"Fer pity sake!" whispered Mrs. Mixter, "what d' you s'pose she's gotunder all that tissue paper?"

Mrs. Solomon Black set the great cake, still veiled, in the middle ofthe table; then she straightened herself and looked from one to theother of the eager, curious faces gathered around. 

"There!" she said. "I feel now 's 'o' I could dror m' breath oncemore. I ain't joggled it once, so's t' hurt, since I started fromhome. "

Then slowly she withdrew the shrouding tissue paper from the creationshe had thus triumphantly borne to its place of honor, and stood off, a little to one side, her face one broad smile of satisfaction. 

"Fer goodness' sake!"

"Did you ev--er!"

"Why, Mis' Black!"

"Ain't that just--"

"You never done that all yourself?"

Mrs. Black nodded slowly, almost solemnly. The huge cake which wasbuilt up in successive steps, like a pyramid, was crowned on itstopmost disk by a bridal scene, a tiny man holding his tiny veiledbride by the hand in the midst of an expanse of pink frosting. Aboutthe side of the great cake, in brightly colored "mites, " wasinscribed "Greetings to our Pastor and his Bride. "

"I thought 'twould be kind of nice, seeing our minister was justmarried, and so, in a way, this is a wedding reception. I don't knowwhat the rest of you ladies'll think. "

Abby Daggett stood with clasped hands, her big soft bosom rising andfalling in a sort of ecstasy. 

"Why, Phoebe, " she said, "it's a real poem! It couldn't be nohan'somer if it had been done right up in heaven!"

She put her arms about Mrs. Solomon Black and kissed her. 

"And this ain't all, " said Mrs. Black. "Lois Daggett is going tofetch over a chocolate cake and a batch of crullers for me when shecomes. "

Applause greeted this statement. 

"Time was, " went on Mrs. Black, "and not so long ago, neither, when Iwas afraid to spend a cent, for fear of a rainy day that's been longcoming. 'Tain't got here yet; but I can tell you ladies, I got alesson from _her_ in generosity I don't mean to forget. 'Spend and bespent' is my motto from now on; so I didn't grudge the new-laid eggsI put in that cake, nor yet the sugar, spice nor raisins. There'sthree cakes in one--in token of the trinity (I do hope th' won'tnobody think it's wicked t' mention r'ligion in connection with acake); the bottom cake was baked in a milk-pan, an' it's a bride'scake, being made with the whites of fourteen perfec'ly fresh eggs;the next layer is fruit and spice, as rich as wedding cake ought tobe; the top cake is best of all; and can be lifted right off andgiven to Rever'nd an' Mrs. Wesley Elliot. .. . I guess they'll like tokeep the wedding couple for a souvenir. "

A vigorous clapping of hands burst forth. Mrs. Solomon Black waitedmodestly till this gratifying demonstration had subsided, then shewent on:

"I guess most of you ladies'll r'member how one short year ago MissLyddy Orr Bolton came a'walkin' int' our midst, lookin' sweet an'modest, like she was; and how down-in-th'-mouth we was all a-feelin', 'count o' havin' no money t' buy th' things we'd worked s' hard t'make. Some of us hadn't no more grit an' gumption 'n Ananias an'S'phira, t' say nothin' o' Jonah an' others I c'd name. In she came, an' ev'rythin' was changed from that minute! . .. Now, I want we sh'dcut up that cake--after everybody's had a chance t' see it good--allbut th' top layer, same's I said--an' all of us have a piece, out o'compl'ment t' our paster an' his wife, an' in memory o' her, who'sgone from us. "

"But Lyddy Orr ain't dead, Mis' Black, " protested Mrs. Daggettwarmly. 

"She might 's well be, 's fur 's our seein' her 's concerned, "replied Mrs. Black. "She's gone t' Boston t' stay f'r good, b'causeshe couldn't stan' it no-how here in Brookville, after her pa wasfound dead. The' was plenty o' hard talk, b'fore an' after; an' whenit come t' breakin' her windows with stones an' hittin' her in th'head, so she was 'bleeged t' have three stitches took, all I c'n sayis I don't wonder she went t' Boston. .. . Anyway, that's my wish an'd'sire 'bout that cake. "

The arrival of Mr. And Mrs. Wesley Elliot offered a welcomeinterruption to a scene which was becoming uncomfortably tense. Whatever prickings of conscience there might have been under the gaymuslin and silks of her little audience, each woman privatelyresented the superior attitude assumed by Mrs. Solomon Black. 

"Easy f'r _her_ t' talk, " murmured Mrs. Fulsom, from between puckeredlips; "_she_ didn't lose no money off Andrew Bolton. "

"An' she didn't get none, neither, when it come t' dividin' up, " Mrs. Mixter reminded her. 

"That's so, " assented Mrs. Fulsom, as she followed in pretty Mrs. Mixter's wake to greet the newly-married pair. 

"My! ain't you proud o' her, " whispered Abby Daggett to Maria Dodge. "She's a perfec' pictur' o' joy, if ever I laid my eyes on one!"

Fanny stood beside her tall husband, her pretty face irradiatinghappiness. She felt a sincere pity welling up in her heart for EllenDix and Joyce Fulsom and the other girls. Compared with her owntranscendent experiences, their lives seemed cold and bleak to Fanny. And all the while she was talking to the women who crowded about her. 

"Yes; we are getting nicely settled, thank you, Mrs. Fulsom--all butthe attic. Oh, how'd you do, Judge Fulsom?"

The big man wiped the perspiration from his bald forehead. 

"Just been fetchin' in th' ice cream freezers, " he said, with hisbooming chuckle. "I guess I'm 's well 's c'n be expected, under th'circumstances, ma'am. .. . An' that r'minds me, parson, a little matterwas s'ggested t' me. In fact, I'd thought of it, some time ago. Nomore 'n right, in view o' th' facts. If you don't mind, I'll outlineth' idee t' you, parson, an' see if you approve. "

Fanny, striving to focus attention on the pointed remarks Miss LoisDaggett was making, caught occasional snatches of their conversation. Fanny had never liked Lois Daggett; but in her new rôle of minister'swife, it was her foreordained duty to love everybody and to condoleand sympathize with the parish at large. One could easily sympathizewith Lois Daggett, she was thinking; what would it be like to beobliged daily to face the reflection of that mottled complexion, thatlong, pointed nose, with its rasped tip, that drab lifeless hair withits sharp hairpin crimp, and those small greenish eyes with noperceptible fringe of lashes? Fanny looked down from her lovelyheight into Miss Daggett's upturned face and pitied her from thebottom of her heart. 

"I hear your brother Jim has gone t' Boston, " Miss Daggett was sayingwith a simper. 

From the rear Fanny heard Judge Fulsom's rumbling monotone, earnestlyaddressed to her husband:

"Not that Boston ain't a nice town t' live in; but we'll have t'enter a demurrer against her staying there f'r good. Y' see--"

"Yes, " said Fanny, smiling at Miss Daggett. "He went several daysago. "

"H'm-m, " murmured Miss Daggett. "_She's_ livin' there, ain't she?"

"You mean Miss Orr?"

"I mean Miss Lyddy Bolton. I guess Bolton's a good 'nough name for_her_. "

From the Judge, in a somewhat louder tone:

"That's th' way it looks t' me, dominie; an' if all th' leadin'citizens of Brookville'll put their name to it--an' I'm of th'opinion they will, when I make my charge t' th' jury--"

"Certainly, " murmured Fanny absently, as she gazed at her husband andthe judge. 

She couldn't help wondering why her Wesley was speaking so earnestlyto the Judge, yet in such a provokingly low tone of voice. 

"I had become so accustomed to thinking of her as Lydia Orr, " shefinished hastily. 

"Well, I don't b'lieve in givin' out a name 'at ain't yourn, " saidLois Daggett, sharply. "She'd ought t' 'a' told right out who shewas, an' what she come t' Brookville _for_. "

Judge Fulsom and the minister had moved still further away. Fanny, with some alarm, felt herself alone. 

"I don't think Miss Orr meant to be deceitful, " she said nervously. 

"Well, o' course, if she's a-goin' t' be in th' family, it's naturalyou sh'd think so, " said Lois Daggett, sniffing loudly. 

Fanny did not answer. 

"I sh'd _hope_ she an' Jim was engaged, " proclaimed Miss Daggett. "Ifthey ain't, they'd ought t' be. "

"Why should you say that, Miss Lois?" asked Fanny hurriedly. "Theyare very good friends. "

Miss Daggett bent forward, lowering her voice. 

"The's one thing I'd like t' know f'r certain, " she said: "Did JimDodge find that body?"

Fanny stared at her inquisitor resentfully. 

"There were a good many persons searching, " she said coldly. 

Miss Daggett wagged her head in an irritated fashion. 

"Of course I know _that_, " she snapped. "What I want t' know iswhether Jim Dodge--"

"I never asked my brother, " interrupted Fanny. "It all happened solong ago, why not--"

"Not s' terrible long, " disagreed Miss Daggett. "It was th' first o'November. N' I've got a mighty good reason f'r askin'. "

"You have?" murmured Fanny, flashing a glance of entreaty at herhusband. 

"Some of us ladies was talkin' it over, " pursued the spinsterrelentlessly, "an' I says t' Mis' Deacon Whittle: 'Who counted th'money 'at was found on Andrew Bolton's body?' I says. 'W'y, ' s' she, 'th' ones 'at found him out in th' woods where he got lost, Is'pose. ' But come t' sift it right down t' facts, not one o' themladies c'd tell f'r certain who 't was 'at found that body. The' wassuch an' excitement 'n' hullaballoo, nobody 'd thought t' ask. Itwa'n't Deacon Whittle; n'r it wa'n't th' party from th' BrookvilleHouse; ner Hank Simonson, ner any o' the boys. _It was Jim Dodge, an'she was with him!"_

"Well, " said Fanny faintly. 

She looked up to meet the minister's eyes, with a sense of strongrelief. Wesley was so wise and good. Wesley would know just what tosay to this prying woman. 

"What are you and Miss Daggett talking about so earnestly?" asked theminister. 

When informed of the question under discussion, he frownedthoughtfully. 

"My dear Miss Daggett, " he said, "if you will fetch me the dinnerbell from Mrs. Whittle's kitchen, I shall be happy to answer yourquestion and others like it which have reached me from time to timeconcerning this unhappy affair. "

"Mis' Deacon Whittle's dinner bell?" gasped Lois Daggett. "What'sthat got t' do with--"

"Bring it to me, and you'll see, " smiled the minister imperturbably. 

"What are you going to do, Wesley?" whispered Fanny. 

He gazed gravely down into her lovely eyes. 

_"Dearest, "_ he whispered back, "trust me! It is time we laid thisuneasy ghost; don't you think so?"

By now the large room was well filled with men, women and children. The ice cream was being passed around when suddenly the clangingsound of a dinner bell, vigorously operated by Joe Whittle, arrestedattention. 

"The minister's got something to say! The minister's got something tosay!" shouted the boy. 

Wesley Elliot, standing apart, lifted his hand in token of silence, then he spoke:

"I have taken this somewhat unusual method of asking your attentionto a matter which has for many years past enlisted your sympathies, "he began: "I refer to the Bolton affair. "

The sound of breath sharply indrawn and the stir of many feet diedinto profound silence as the minister went on, slowly and withfrequent pauses:

"Most of you are already familiar with the sordid details. It is notnecessary for me to go back to the day, now nearly nineteen yearsago, when many of you found yourselves unexpectedly impoverishedbecause the man you trusted had defaulted. .. . There was muchsuffering in Brookville that winter, and since. .. . When I came tothis parish I found it--sick. Because of the crime of Andrew Bolton?No. I repeat the word with emphasis: _No!_ Brookville was sick, despondent, dull, gloomy and impoverished--not because of AndrewBolton's crime; but because Brookville had never forgiven AndrewBolton. .. . Hate is the one destructive element in the universe; didyou know that, friends? It is impossible for a man or woman who hatesanother to prosper. .. . And I'll tell you why this is--why it must betrue: God is love--the opposite of hate. Hence All Power is enlistedon the side of _love_. .. . Think this over, and you'll know it istrue. .. . Now the Bolton mystery: A year ago we were holding a fair inthis village, which was sick and impoverished because it had neverforgiven the man who stole its money. .. . You all remember thatoccasion. There were things to sell; but nobody had money to buythem. It wasn't a pleasant occasion. Nobody was enjoying it, least ofall your minister. But a miracle took place-- There are miracles inthe world today, as there always have been, thank God! There cameinto Brookville that day a person who was moved by love. Everyimpulse of her heart; everything she did was inspired by thatmightiest force of the universe. She called herself Lydia Orr. .. . Shehad been called Lydia Orr, as far back as she could remember; so shedid no wrong to anyone by retaining that name. But she had anothername, which she quickly found was a byword and a hissing inBrookville. Was it strange that she shrank from telling it? Shebelieved in the forgiveness of sins; and she had come to right agreat wrong. .. . She did what she could, as it is written of anotherwoman, who poured out a fragrant offering of love unappreciated saveby One. .. . There quickly followed the last chapter in thetragedy--for it was all a tragedy, friends, as I look at it: thetheft; the pitiful attempt to restore fourfold all that had beentaken; the return of that ruined man, Andrew Bolton, after his heavypunishment; and his tragic death. .. . Some of you may not know allthat happened that night. You do know of the cowardly attack madeupon the helpless girl. You know of the flight of the terrified man, of how he was found dead two days later three miles from the village, in a lonely spot where he had perished from hunger and exposure. .. . The body was discovered by James Dodge, with the aid of his dog. Withhim on that occasion was a detective from Boston, employed by MissBolton, and myself. There was a sum of money found on the bodyamounting to something over five thousand dollars. It had beensecreted beneath the floor of Andrew Bolton's chamber, before hisarrest and imprisonment. It is probable that he intended to make goodhis escape, but failed, owing to the illness of his wife. .. . This isa terrible story, friends, and it has a sad ending. Brookville hadnever learned to forgive. It had long ago formed the terrible habitsof hate: suspicion, envy, sharp-tongued censure and the rest. LydiaBolton could not remain here, though it was her birthplace and herhome. .. . She longed for friendship! She asked for bread and you gaveher--a stone!"

The profound silence was broken by a sob from a distant corner. Thestrained listeners turned with a sharp movement of relief. 

"Fer pity sake!" faltered Abby Daggett, her beautiful, rosy face allquivering with grief. "Can't nobody do nothing?"

"Yes, ma'am!" shouted the big voice of Judge Fulsom. "We can all dosomething. .. . I ain't going to sum up the case against Brookville;the parson's done it already; if there's any rebuttal coming from thedefendant, now's the time to bring it before the court. .. . Nothing tosay--eh? Well, I thought so! We're guilty of the charges preferred, and I'm going to pass sentence. .. . But before I do that, there's onething the parson didn't mention, that in my opinion should be told, to wit: Miss Lydia Bolton's money--all that she had--came to her fromher uncle, an honest hardworkin' citizen of Boston. He made everypenny of it as a soap-boiler. So you see 'twas _clean_ money; and heleft it to his niece, Lydia Bolton. What did she do with it? Youknow! She poured it out, right here in Brookville--pretty nigh allthere was of it. She's got her place here; but mighty little besides. I'm her trustee, and I know. The five thousand dollars found on thedead body of Andrew Bolton, has been made a trust fund for the poorand discouraged of this community, under conditions anybody that'lltake the trouble to step in to my office can find out. .. . "

The Judge paused to clear his throat, while he produced from hispocket, with a vast deal of ceremony, a legal looking documentdangling lengths of red ribbon and sealing wax. 

"This Bond of Indemnity, which I'm going to ask every man, woman andchild of fifteen years and up'ards, of the village of Brookville, hereinafter known as the Party of the First Part, to sign, reads asfollows: Know all men by these presents that we, citizens of thevillage of Brookville, hereinafter known as the Party of the FirstPart, are held and firmly bound unto Miss Lydia Orr Bolton, hereinafter known as the Party of the Second Part. .. . Whereas; theabove-named Party of the Second Part (don't f'rget that means MissLydia Bolton) did in behalf of her father--one Andrew Bolton, deceased--pay, compensate, satisfy, restore, remunerate, recompense_and re-quite_ all legal indebtedness incurred by said Andrew Boltonto, for, and in behalf of the aforesaid Party of the First Part. .. . 

"You git me? If you don't, just come to my office and I'll explain indetail any of the legal terms not understood, comprehended and knownby the feeble-minded of Brookville. Form in line at nine o'clock. First come, first served:

"We, the Party of the First Part, bind ourselves, and each of ourheirs, executors, administrators and assigns, jointly and severally, firmly by these presents, and at all times hereafter to save, defend, keep harmless and indemnify the aforesaid Party of the Second Part(Miss Lydia Bolton) of, from and against all further costs, damages, expense, disparagements (that means spiteful gossip, ladies!)molestations, slander, vituperations, etc. (I could say more, _but_we've got something to do that'll take time. ) And whereas, the saidParty of the Second Part has been actually drove to Boston to live bythe aforesaid slander, calumniations, aspersions and libels--whichwe, the said Party of the First Part do hereby acknowledge to befalse and untrue (yes, and doggone mean, as I look at it)--we, thesaid Party of the First part do firmly bind ourselves, our heirs, executors, administrators an' assigns to quit all such illegalitiesfrom this day forth, and forever more. " . .. 

"You want to get out of the habit of talking mean about AndrewBolton, for one thing. It's been as catching as measles in this townsince I can remember. Andrew Bolton's dead and buried in ourcemetery, beside his wife. We'll be there ourselves, some day; in themeanwhile we want to reform our tongues. You get me? All right!

"And whereas, we, the Party of the First Part, otherwise known as thevillage of Brookville, do ask, beg, entreat, supplicate and plead thef'rgiveness of the Party of the Second Part, otherwise known as MissLydia Orr Bolton. And we also hereby request, petition, implore _an'_importune Miss Lydia Orr Bolton, otherwise known as the Party of theSecond Part, to return to Brookville and make it her permanent placeof residence, promising on our part, at all times hereafter, to save, defend, keep harmless and indemnify her against all unfriendliness, of whatever sort; and pledging ourselves to be good neighbors andloving friends from the date of this document, which, when signed byth' Party of the First Part, shall be of full force and virtue. Sealed with our seals. Dated this seventh day of June, in the year ofour Lord, nineteen hundred--"

A loud uproar of applause broke loose in the pause that followed;then the minister's clear voice called for silence once more. 

"The Judge has his big fountain pen filled to its capacity, " he said. "Come forward and sign this--the most remarkable document on record, I am not afraid to say. Its signing will mean the wiping out of anold bitterness and the dawning of a new and better day forBrookville!"

The Reverend Wesley Elliot had mixed his metaphors sadly; but no oneminded that, least of all the minister himself, as he signed his namein bold black characters to the wondrous screed, over which JudgeFulsom had literally as well as metaphorically burned the midnightoil. Deacon and Mrs. Whittle signed; Postmaster and Mrs. Daggettsigned, the latter with copious tears flowing over her smooth rosycheeks. Miss Lois Daggett was next:

"I guess I ought to be written down near the front, " said she, "seeing I'm full as much to blame, and like that, as most anybody. "

"Come on you, Lute Parsons!" roared the Judge, while a group ofmatrons meekly subscribed their signatures. "We want some livemen-folks on this document. .. . Aw, never mind, if you did! We allknow you wa'n't yourself that night, Lucius. .. . That's right; comeright forward! We want the signature of every man that went out therethat night, full of cussedness and bad whiskey. .. . That's the ticket!Come on, everybody! Get busy!"

Nobody had attended the door for the last hour, Joe Whittle being aspellbound witness of the proceedings; and so it chanced that nobodysaw two persons, a man and a woman who entered quietly--one mightalmost have said timidly, as if doubtful of a welcome in the crowdedplace. It was Abby Daggett who caught sight of the girl's face, shining against the soft dark of the summer night like a pale star. 

"Why, my sakes alive!" she cried, "if there ain't Lyddy Bolton andJim Dodge, now! Did you ever!"

As she folded the girl's slight figure to her capacious breast, Mrs. Daggett summed up in a single pithy sentence all the legalphraseology of the Document, which by now had been signed byeverybody old enough to write their names:

"Well! we certainly are glad you've come home, Lyddy; an' we hopeyou'll never leave us no more!"

Chapter XXVIII

"Fanny, " said Ellen suddenly; "I want to tell you something. "

Mrs. Wesley Elliot turned a complacently abstracted gaze upon herfriend who sat beside her on the vine-shaded piazza of the parsonage. She felt the sweetest sympathy for Ellen, whenever she thought of herat all:

"Yes, dear. "

"Do you remember my speaking to you about Jim-- Oh, a long time ago, and how he--? It was perfectly ridiculous, you know. "

Fanny's blue eyes became suddenly alert. 

"You mean the time Jim kissed you, " she murmured. "Oh, Ellen, I'vealways been so sorry for--"

"Well; you needn't be, " interrupted Ellen; "I never cared a snap forJim Dodge; so there!"

The youthful matron sighed gently: she felt that she understood poordear Ellen perfectly, and in token thereof she patted poor dearEllen's hand. 

"I know exactly how you feel, " she warbled. 

Ellen burst into a gleeful laugh:

"You think you do; but you don't, " she informed her friend, with aspice of malice. "Your case was entirely different from mine, mydear: You were perfectly crazy over Wesley Elliot; I was only in lovewith being in love. "

Fanny looked sweetly mystified and a trifle piqued withal. 

"I wanted to have a romance--to be madly in love, " Ellen explained. "Oh, you know! Jim was merely a peg to hang it on. "

The wife of the minister smiled a lofty compassion. 

"Everything seems so different after one is married, " she stated. 

"Is that really so?" cried Ellen. "Well, I shall soon know, Fan, forI'm to be married in the fall. "

_"Married? Why, Ellen Dix!"_

"Uh--huh, " confirmed Ellen, quite satisfied with the success of her_coup_. "You don't know him, Fan; but he's perfectly elegant--and_handsome!_ Just wait till you see him. "

Ellen rocked herself to and fro excitedly. 

"I met him in Grenoble last winter, and we're going to live there inthe _sweetest_ house. He fell in love with me the first minute he sawme. You never knew anyone to be so awfully in love . .. M'm!"

Without in the least comprehending the reason for the phenomenon, Mrs. Wesley Elliot experienced a singular depression of spirit. Ofcourse she was glad poor dear Ellen was to be happy. She strove toinfuse a sprightly satisfaction into her tone and manner as she said:

"What wonderful news, dear. But isn't it rather--sudden? I mean, oughtn't you to have known him longer! . .. You didn't tell me hisname. "

Ellen's piquant dark face sparkled with mischief and happiness. 

"His name is Harvey Wade, " she replied; "you know Wade and Hampton, where you bought your wedding things, Fan? Everybody knows the Wades, and I've known Harvey long enough to--"

She grew suddenly wistful as she eyed her friend:

"You _have_ changed a lot since you were married, Fan; all the girlsthink so. Sometimes I feel almost afraid of you. Is it--do you--?"

Fanny's unaccountable resentment melted before a sudden rush ofsympathy and understanding. She drew Ellen's blushing face close toher own in the sweetness of caresses:

"I'm _so_ glad for you, dear, so _glad!_"

"And you'll tell Jim?" begged Ellen, after a silence full of thrills. "I should hate to have him suppose--"

"He doesn't, Ellen, " Jim's sister assured her, out of a secret fundof knowledge to which she would never have confessed. "Jim alwaysunderstood you far better than I did. And he likes you, too, betterthan any girl in Brookville. "

"Except Lydia, " amended Ellen. 

"Oh, of course, except Lydia. "

Chapter XXIX

There was a warm, flower-scented breeze stirring the heavy foliagedrenched with the silver rain of moonlight, and the shrilling ofinnumerable small voices of the night. It all belonged; yet neitherthe man nor the woman noticed anything except each other; nor heardanything save the words the other uttered. 

"To think that you love me, Lydia!" he said, triumph and humilitycuriously mingled in his voice. 

"How could I help it, Jim? I could never have borne it all, if you--"

"Really, Lydia?"

He looked down into her face which the moonlight had spiritualized tothe likeness of an angel. 

She smiled and slipped her hand into his. 

They were alone in the universe, so he stooped and kissed her, murmuring inarticulate words of rapture. 

After uncounted minutes they walked slowly on, she within the circleof his arm, her blond head against the shoulder of his rough tweedcoat. 

"When shall it be, Lydia?" he asked. 

She blushed--even in the moonlight he could see the adorable flutterof color in her face. 

"I am all alone in the world, Jim, " she said, rather sadly. "I haveno one but you. "

"I'll love you enough to make up for forty relations!" he declared. "And, anyway, as soon as we're married you'll have mother and Fanand--er--"

He made a wry face, as it occurred to him for the first time that theReverend Wesley Elliot was about to become Lydia's brother-in-law. 

The girl laughed. 

"Haven't you learned to like him yet?" she inquired teasingly. 

"I can stand him for a whole hour at a time now, without experiencinga desire to kick him, " he told her. "But why should we waste timetalking about Wesley Elliot?"

Lydia appeared to be considering his question with some seriousness. 

"Why, Jim, " she said, looking straight up into his eyes with theinnocent candor he had loved in her from the beginning, "Mr. Elliotwill expect to marry us. "

"That's so!" conceded Jim; "Fan will expect it, too. "

He looked at her eagerly:

"Aren't you in a hurry for that wonderful brother-in-law, Lydia?Don't you think--?"

The smile on her face was wonderful now; he felt curiously abashed byit, like one who has inadvertently jested in a holy place. 

"Forgive me, dearest, " he murmured. 

"If you would like--if it is not too soon--my birthday is nextSaturday. Mother used to make me a little party on my birthday, so Ithought--it seemed to me--and the roses are all in bloom. "

There was only one way to thank her for this halting little speech:he took her in his arms and whispered words which no one, not eventhe crickets in the hedge could hear, if crickets ever werelisteners, and not the sole chorus on their tiny stage of life.