"Molly! Molly!" cried Dorothy, her face aflame and her eyes swiftly filling.

"Yes I shall tell, too. Secrets are the killingest things to bear. I expect Papa will scold and Auntie Lu make fun but I'm doing it for charity. I shall put away every bit of my allowance to educate my—my son—and I shall call him Augustus Algernon Breckenridge. I thought you might as well know," and with this startling statement the Judge's daughter threw back her head and eyed the company defiantly.

The girls stared, all save Dorothy, and the Master laughed, while from their corners the twins echoed a shrill cackle; then immediately began to practice the somersaults which Herbert had been at such pains to teach them. Then Molly rose, with what she considered great dignity, and, forcing Ananias to stand upon his feet, said in a sweet maternal tone:

"Come, my little boy. I want you to keep nice and rested till I take you to the circus." Then she led him away, Sapphira tugging at her skirts and Alfaretta remarking:

"Guess you'll have to adopt the pair, Molly Breckenridge. Them two stick closer'n glue!"

In another moment all but the Master and Dorothy had left the room, and seizing this opportunity he called her to him.

"Dolly Doodles, I want to talk with you a little. Let's go out to the old barn—I mean the new one—and have a visit. We haven't had any cosy confidence talks, remember, since this House Party began."

It was the very thing she craved. Frank and outspoken by nature, long used to telling everything to this wise old friend, they had no sooner settled themselves upon the straw divan, than out it came, with a burst of sobs:

"Oh! dear Mr. Seth, I'm so unhappy!"

"Yes, child. I've seen it. Such a pity, too, on a circus day!"

"Please, please don't tease me now. Aunt Betty thinks—thinks—I hardly know—only—read that!"

From the tiny pocket of her blouse she pulled the fateful telegram and thrust it into his hand. He had some ado to smooth it out and decipher the blurred writing, for it had been wet with many tears and frequently handled.

"You have made me dangerously angry. You must find that money. Heretofore there has been no thievery in my house." Signed, "Mrs. Elisabeth Cecil Somerset-Calvert."

The farrier whistled softly, and slowly refolded the document; then drew Dorothy's wet face to his shoulder and said:

"Yes, little girl, we must find that money. We must. There is no other way."

"But how can we? And why should she—she be so angry after having told me I was all the world to her and that all she had was mine, or would be."

"Well, dearie, 'would be' and 'is' are two widely differing conditions. Besides, she is Betty Calvert and you are you."

"That's no answer, as I can see."

"It is all the answer there is. She is an old, old lady though she doesn't realize it herself. All her life long she has been accustomed to doing exactly what she wished and when she wished. She has idealized you and you have idealized her. Neither of you is at all perfect—though mighty nice, the pair of you!—and you've got to fit yourselves to one another. Naturally, most of the fitting must be on your part, since you're the younger. You will love each other dearly, you do now, despite this temporary cloud, but you, my child, will have to cultivate the grace of patience; cultivate it as if it were a cherished rose in your own old garden. It will all come right, don't fear."

"How can it come right? How ever in this world? I've promised to adopt one of the twins and Molly trusts me in that and I haven't a cent. I'm poorer than I used to be before I was an heiress. Molly will never believe me again. Then there's all this expense you're paying—the circus tickets and railway fares and all. It was to be my House Party, my very own, to celebrate my coming into my rightful name and home and it isn't at all. It's yours and—Oh! dear! Oh! dear! Nothing is right. I wish I could run away and hide somewhere before Aunt Betty comes home. I shall never dare to look at her again after I've made her 'dangerously angry.' What can that mean? I used to vex Mother Martha, often, but never like that. Oh! I wish I was her little girl again and not this——"

Seth laid his finger on her lip and the wish she might have uttered and bitterly regretted was never spoken. But the old man's face was grave as he said:

"You did not know, but my Cousin Betty means that you have excited her beyond physical safety. She has a weak heart and has always been cautioned against undue agitation. It has been a sad business altogether and I wish you had had more confidence in me and come to me with that letter before you sent it. As for the 'expenses' of your Party—it is yours, dear, entirely—they are slight and my contribution to the general happiness. The only real thing that does matter, that will be most difficult to set straight is—your suspicion of old Ephraim. It was that I believe which angered Mrs. Calvert, far more than the money loss, although she is exact enough to keep a cent per cent account of all her own expenses—giving lavishly the meanwhile to any purpose she elects. Poor Ephraim! His heart is wellnigh broken, and old hearts are hard to mend!"

Dorothy was aghast.

"Does he know? Oh! has anybody told him that I suspected him?"

"Not in words; and at first he didn't dream it possible that his honesty could be doubted. But—that's the horrible part of suspicion—once started it's incurable. Side glances, inuendoes, shrugged shoulders—Oh! by many a little channel the fact has come home to him that he is connected in all our minds with the loss of your one hundred dollars. Haven't you seen? How he goes about with bowed head, with none of his quaint jests and 'darkyisms,' a sober, astonished old man whose world is suddenly turned upside down. That's why he refused my money this morning which I offered him for his circus expenses. 'No, Massa Seth, I'se gwine bide ter home.' Yet of all the family of Deerhurst, before this happened, he would have been the most eager for the 'Show.' However, he refuses; and in a certain way maybe it is as well. Otherwise the place would be left unguarded. I should keep watch myself, if I didn't think my Dorothy and her mates were better worth protecting than all Deerhurst.

"So now, shorten up that doleful countenance. The mischief that has been done must be undone. Aunt Betty must come home to a loving, forgiving child; old Ephraim must be reinstated in his own and everybody's respect; and to do this—that money must be found! Now, for our friends—and brighter thoughts!"

"That money shall be found! I don't know how, I cannot guess—but it shall!" answered Dorothy with great confidence, born of some sudden inspiration. The talk with the Master had lightened her heart and it was with a fine resolution to be everything that was dutiful and tender toward Aunt Betty that she left the barn and rejoined her mates.



CHAPTER XII

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

Deerhurst was deserted.

With a down-sinking heart old Ephraim had watched the last of the merry-makers vanish through the gateway, even gray haired Hans and Griselda joining their fellow employees on this trip to the circus. The watcher's disappointment was almost more than he could bear. His love of junketing was like a child's and for many days, as he drove his bays about the countryside, he had gloated over the brilliant posters which heralded the coming of "The Greatest Show on Earth." He had even invited Aunt Malinda to accompany him at his expense, and now she had gone but he was left.

"Hmm. It do seem pow'ful ha'd on me, hit sutney do. But—if all dem folkses is suspicionin' 't ole Eph'aim is a t'ief—My lan', a T'IEF! Not a step Ah steps to no ca'yins' on, scusin dey fin's Ah isn't. If my Miss Betty was to home! Oh! fo' my Miss Betty! She's gwine tole dese yeah Pa'ty folks somepin' when she comes ma'chin' in de doah. Dey ain' no suspicions ertwixt my Miss Betty an' me."

His thoughts having taken this course Ephraim found some comfort. Then the responsibility of his position forced itself to mind. No, he couldn't go stretch himself on the back porch in the September sunshine and sleep just yet. Though it was against all custom and tradition in that honest locality, he would lock up the whole house. He would begin at the front door and fasten every window and entrance even to the scullery. There should nothing more be missing, and no more suspicion fixed on a poor old man. He didn't yet know who had set the miserable idea afloat in the beginning, and he didn't dream of its being Dorothy. He had found himself strangely questioned by the other servants and had met curious glances from the visitors in the house. Finally, a stable lad had suddenly propounded the inquiry:

"What did you do with that money, anyway, Ephy? If you don't hand it back pretty soon there'll be trouble for you, old man."

He had returned indignant inquiries himself, at last worming the whole matter out; and then, with almost bursting heart, had gone to Seth Winters with his trouble. The farrier had comforted as best he could, had assured the old negro of his own utmost faith in him, but—he could not explain the absence of the money and his assurances had been of small avail.

Whenever he was alone poor Ephraim brooded over the matter. He now avoided his fellow workers as much as he could. His appetite failed, his nights were sleepless, and Dinah impressively declared that: "He's yeitheh been hoodooed or he stole dat money." She was inclined to accept the first possibility, but with the superstition of her race felt that one was about as derogatory as the other. So nobody, except Mr. Winters, had been very sorry to have him stay behind on this occasion when jollity and not low spirits was desirable.

At last when all was secure, the care-taker retired to his bench and his nap, and had been enjoying himself thus for an hour or so, when the sound of wheels and somebody's "Whooa-a!" aroused him.

"Ah, friend! Can thee afford to waste time like this?" demanded a blandly reproving voice; and Ephraim opened his eyes to behold George Fox and his owner reined up before him. He knew that equipage and wondered to see it at Deerhurst, whose mistress, he knew, had scant liking for the miller.

"Yes, sah. I'se reckon Ah c'n afford hit; bein' mo' inclined to take mah rest 'an to go rampagin' eroun' to circuses an' such. On yo' way dar, sah?"

"I? I! On my way to a circus? Thee must know little of a Friend's habits to accuse me of such frivolity. Where is that Seth Winters?" asked Oliver Sands, well knowing what the answer would be and having timed his visit with that knowledge.

"He's done gone to de Show, sah. He natchally injoys a good time. Yes, sah, he's one mighty happy ole man, Massa Seth Winters is, sah."

"One mighty——" began the miller then checked himself. "I came—but thee will answer just as well. I'd like to inspect that new barn Elisabeth Calvert has put up; and, if thee will, show me through her house as well. I've heard of its appointments and Dorcas, my wife, is anxious to learn of the range in the kitchen. Thee knows that women——"

Again the visitor paused, suggestively, and Ephraim reflected for a moment. He knew that his Miss Betty was the soul of hospitality and might upbraid him if he refused to show a neighbor through the premises. Even strangers sometimes drove into the park and were permitted to inspect the greenhouses and even some of the mansion's lower rooms. He had heard such visitors rave over the "old Colonial" appointments and knew that Deerhurst's mistress had been secretly flattered by this admiration.

Ah! but that was before this dreadful thing had happened! When—before somebody had stolen, some unknown thief had been within those walls!

"Well, sah, Ah is sutney sorry but, sah, when I'se lef' to care-take, sah, I care-takes. Some uddah time, when Miss Betty done be yeah, sah, sutney, sah——"

The negro's exaggerated courtesy affronted Oliver Sands. It was not his policy to contest the point, and if he had fancied he could persuade this loyal care-taker to admit him that he might search the house as he had searched many other houses of late, he silently admitted his own mistake and drove away with no further word than: "Gid-dap, George Fox!"

But he drove home with head on breast and a keen disappointment in his heart; which expressed itself in a stern rebuke to his wife as he entered her kitchen and met her timid, inquiring glance:

"Thee has maggots in thy head, Dorcas Sands. I advise thee to get rid of them."

She might have retorted with equal truth: "So is thee maggotty, Oliver, else would thee do openly that which should bring thee peace."

But being a dutiful wife she kept silence, though she brooded many things in her tender heart; and the incident passed without further comment than Seth Winters's ambiguous remark, when Ephraim told of the miller's call: "So the leaven is working, after all."

But while this trivial affair was happening at Deerhurst, the train had swiftly carried the household to the hill-city a few miles up the river; and almost before they were comfortably settled in the crowded car, the conductor was announcing: "Newburgh next! All out for Newburgh!"

"Here we are! And here's our stage! We've chartered a whole one to carry us up the hill. A hard climb and no time to lose!" called out a boyish voice and Herbert's tall shoulder shoved a path through the throng. "There's another empty over yonder, if the 'help' speak quick enough!"

But Aunt Malinda standing bewildered and Dinah indignantly correcting somebody for jostling her, rather delayed this operation; so, at a nod from the Master, Jim Barlow made a bee line for the vehicle and stoutly held it as "engaged!" against all comers.

"It's a case of every man for himself!" laughed Monty, squeezing his fat body toward the group of girls which was standing apart, amazed and somewhat dismayed by the press of people. "Oh! Don't get worried, Molly, by a little jam like this. Wait till you see the grounds. I declare it seems as if everybody between New York and Albany had come to the 'Show.' It is a big one, I guess, and the Parade was fine. Sorry we didn't bring all of you, pillion, old-style, so you could have seen it, too."

"Monty, stop! It's cruelty to girls to harrow up their feelings that way! As if we didn't all think 'pillion' and long to suggest it, only our diffidence prevailed. But come! Mr. Seth has piloted the servants to their stage and is waiting for us!" answered Molly Breckenridge and was the first to spring up the narrow steps at the rear of the rickety omnibus and run to its innermost corner, where she extended her arms to receive her "son" whom she had kept in charge during the ride in the car. The other Molly had passed him on to her, he submitting in wide-eyed astonishment at all the novelty of this trip. Helena held Sapphira as closely, and Dorothy's arm was tightly clasped about Luna's waist, who, oddly enough, was the least affrighted of them all.

"Won't the horses be afraid? Supposin' they should run away!" cried Molly Martin, who had seldom been in the town and never on such an occasion as this.

"Pooh! Them horses won't run 'less they're prodded into it. They look as if they'd been draggin' stages up and down these hills all their lives and never expected to do anything else," answered Alfaretta, quickly. "Don't you get scared, Molly, I ain't."

Indeed, of all that happy party Alfaretta was, maybe, the happiest. Her face was one continual smile and her chatter touched upon everything they passed with such original remarks that she kept them all laughing. Seth beamed upon her from his place beside Luna, and was himself delighted to see that Dorothy was now as gay as any of the others. For the time being any worries she had had were forgotten; and it was she who exclaimed in astonishment, as they came to the grounds and climbed out of the stage:

"'Do I wake or am I dreaming'! If there isn't Miss Penelope Rhinelander! and Miss Greatorex is with her! True, true! Who'd ever believe they'd come to a circus!"

"Reckon they'd say they did it to study natural history—elephants and things!" laughed Molly, waving her hand vigorously to attract the attention of her old teachers.

But they did not see her, so occupied were they in endeavoring to be of a crowd and yet not in it.

"Shucks! There's Dr. Sterling! That I worked for last year and went trampin' with last summer! Who'd ha' believed a minister would go to a circus!" now almost shouted Jim Barlow.

"Why, I would, laddie. I'll warrant you that every grown-up in the town who has a child friend he can make an excuse of to bring here has done it! Funny they should offer excuses, when there isn't a man or woman but, at sound of a circus band, remembers their childhood and longs to attend one once more. For myself, I prefer a good, old-fashioned 'show' to the finest opera going. The one touches my heart, the other my head. But here we are, and Miss Helena, I see you're beginning to perk up, now you find yourself in such good company."

For he had overheard that young lady, despite her morning's resolution to "do just as the rest did and forget it was silly," remark to Mabel Bruce in confidence that:

"If I'd known, even dreamed, that we should have to mix with such a rabble, I should have stayed at Deerhurst!"

This was when they had had to scramble for their stage; and Mabel had affectedly replied:

"Me too. My folks never do like to have me make myself common; and this organdie dress will be torn to ribbons."

Seth had smiled then, overhearing, and bided his time. Well he understood how one emotion can sway an entire crowd, and he but waited till they should have arrived to see even these contemptuous lassies catch the "circus spirit." So he couldn't resist this little jest at Helena's expense, which she took now in great good nature; by then they had come to the entrance to the big tent where the chief performance would be given.

This entrance was guarded by a wooden stile, from which a narrow canvas-covered passage led to the inner door. At the stile tickets were sold, and these were in turn taken up by the collector at the end of the passage which opened directly into the tent.

"Speaking of crowds! Was ever such another one as this!" gasped Melvin Cook, as he found himself in the swirl of persons seeming to move in two directions, as, indeed, they were. Then he looked around for his friends and to his consternation saw Molly Breckenridge tossed to and fro in a hopeless effort to extricate herself, and that she held one of the twins by hand, till suddenly the child fell beneath the very feet of the crowding adults.

"My baby! Oh! O-oh!" screamed Molly, and an instant's halt followed, but the jam was to be immediately resumed.

Fortunately, however, that instant had been sufficient for tall Jim Barlow to stoop and lift the child on high.

"Hang on to me, Molly! I'll kick and jam a way through. 'Twill be over in a minute, soon's we get to the inside and have—you—got—your ticket?"

"Ye-e-es! But—but—I'll never come to a circus—again—never—never——"

"You haven't got to this one yet," returned Jim, breathlessly. Then he discovered Mr. Winters standing inside the tent, and extending his arms to receive the uplifted little one which Jim at once tossed forward like a ball.

At last they were all inside. The Master had been more fortunate in piloting his especial charges, Luna and Sapphira, through that struggling mob; but it was in a tone of deep disgust that he now exclaimed:

"Oh! the selfishness of human nature! A moment's delay, a touch of courtesy, and such scenes would be avoided. The struggle for 'first place,' to better one's self at the expense of one's neighbor, is an ugly thing to witness."

"But, Teacher, when you get in such a place you have to just do like the rest and act piggish, too," said Alfaretta. "I guess I know now how 't one them panics that you read about, sometimes, could happen. If one them jammers went crazy, or scared, all the rest would too, likely."

"Exactly, Alfaretta. But, let's think of pleasanter things. Let's follow James."

After all, though Mr. Winters had doubted there would be, the lad had secured reserved seats and on "the front row near the entrance," just as that gentleman had desired; so presently, they had arranged themselves upon the low-down bench where, at least, their feet could touch bottom; and where with a comical air the farrier immediately began to sniff the familiar odor of fresh turned sod covered with sawdust, and turning to his next neighbor remarked:

"I think I'm nine years old, to-day, nine 'goin' on' ten."

But his facetiousness was wasted upon sedate Jane Potter; who did not even smile but reflected:

"If that old man's going to talk silly I'll change places with Alfaretta. And if the performance isn't to begin right away I'll just walk around and look at the animals' cages."

She did this, laying her handkerchief and jacket on her vacated seat, though her host called after her:

"You may not be able to get your place again, in such a crowd."

However, if she heard she did not turn back and was presently out of sight in the line of promenaders continually passing. Also, his own face grew sober at the sound of thunder, and he clasped his arm more protectingly around Luna's waist, who sat on his other side, and counselled Dorothy, just beyond:

"Do you and Molly keep close care of the twins. There's a storm brewing and timid people may stampede past us toward the door."

"Why, would anybody be afraid in a big tent like this?" asked Dolly, surprised.

"Some might. But—Hark! Hooray! Here we come!"

The band which had been playing all the time now broke into a more blatant march, a gaily accoutred "herald" galloped forth from a wide opening at the rear of the tent, then turned his steed about to face that opening, waving his staff and curveting about in the most fantastic manner. Then the silence of expectation fell upon that mass of humanity, the promenaders settling into any seats available, warned by men in authority not to obstruct the view of those on the lower benches.

As a cavalcade of horses appeared Mr. Winters looked anxiously down into Luna's face. To his surprise it showed no interest in the scene before her but was fast settling into its habitual drowsiness.

"Well, after all, that's best. We could not leave her behind and I feared she would be frightened;" he observed to Dorothy.

"Yes, I'm glad, too. Keep still, 'Phira! You must keep still, else you may be hurt. Wait. I'll take you on my lap, as Molly has 'Nias. Now—see the pretty horses?" answered Dorothy, and involuntarily shivered as a fresh thunderclap fell on her ears.

Alfaretta leaned forward to remark:

"It's begun to rain! But isn't it cute to be under a tent and just let it rain! Ah! My soul! Ain't they beautiful? Look, girls, look, them first ones is almost here! A-ah! them clowns! And monkeys—to the far end there's real monkeys ridin' on Shetland ponies! Oh! my heart and soul and body! I'm so glad I come!"

She finished her comments, standing up and swaying wildly from side to side, till somebody from the rear jabbed her shoulders with an umbrella point, loudly commanding: "Down front! Down front!"

She dropped into her seat with a shriek, which somebody somewhere promptly caught up and echoed, while at that same instant a flash of lightning illuminated even that interior which had grown so strangely dark, and on the instant came a terrific crash.

Another woman screamed, and Seth Winters's face paled. He knew how very little it would now take to start a panic. But the band played the louder, the performers went round and round the great ring, the clowns frolicked and the monkeys pranked, and he inwardly blessed the discipline which kept every player to his post, as if such electric storms were every day incidents.

"What are those men doing to the roof?" suddenly demanded Molly Martin of her neighbor, James, calling his attention to the sagging canvas and the employees hurrying hither and thither to lift it on the points of great poles. Then would follow a splash of water down the slope from the central supporting pole of that flimsy roof, dashing off at the scalloped edges upon the surrounding ground.

"Water's heavy. I guess they're afraid it'll break and douse the people. Hi! But that was a teaser! It don't stop a minute and it's getting blacker'n ink. Never heard such a roar and it don't let up a second. They'll have to stop the performance till it slacks up, and—What fools these folks are that's hurrying out into that downpour!"

"Maybe—maybe—they're safer outside. Rain won't hurt—much—but circus tents are sometimes blown down—I've read——"

"Now come, Alfy Babcock, just hold your tongue! Rough way to speak but I mean it. Hear what the Master said? How it was mighty easy to start a panic but impossible to stop one, or nigh so? Everyone that keeps still and behaves helps to make somebody else do it. Here, boy, fetch them peanuts this way? Dip in, Alfy, I'll treat, and I see the lemonade feller's headed this way, too. Whilst we're waitin' we might as well——"

Even Jim's philosophy was put to the test just then, for with a peanut half-way to his lips his hand was arrested by another terrific crash and the swishing tear of wet canvas.



CHAPTER XIII

IN THE GREAT KITCHEN

Still the band played on. The cavalcade paced round and round the ring, while a hundred workmen—it seemed—swarmed to the repair of the torn tent. Fortunately, the injured portion was that occupied as dressing rooms and stables for the performers, so that few of the audience suffered more than fright. Indeed, most of the spectators realized as Mr. Winters had done, the danger of panic and the wisdom of composure, so remained in their places.

Also, with the same suddenness that had marked its rising the storm ended and the sun shone out. One mighty sigh of relief swept over those crowded tiers of humanity, and the indefatigable band struck up a new and livelier note. The tight-rope dancer sprang lightly into the ring and went through her hazardous feats with smiling face and airy self-confidence; the elephants ascended absurdly small stools, and stood upon them, "lookin' terribly silly, as if they knew they were makin' guys of themselves," so Mike Martin exclaimed, though he still kept his fascinated eyes upon their every movement. There was the usual bareback riding and jumping through rings: the trapeze, and the pony quadrille; in short, all that could be expected of any well conducted "Show," while above all and below all sounded the clown's voice in a ceaseless clatter and cackle of nonsense.

Laughter and badinage, peanuts and pink lemonade; men and women turned back to childhood, smiling at the foolishness enacted before them but more at their own in thus enjoying it; and the "Learned Blacksmith" who had pondered many books finding this company around him the most interesting study of them all.

It was this that he loved about a circus; and, to-day, at their first one, the faces of Ananias and Sapphira held his gaze enthralled.

"Dolly, Dolly Doodles! Do watch them!" he cried for sympathy in his delight. "Did ever you see eyes so bright? Mouths so wide agape? and happiness so intense! Ah! if those to whom they belong could see them now, all hardness would vanish in a flash!"

Dorothy looked as he desired, but her glance was less of admiration than of anxiety. She had seen what he did not see and was hearing what he did not; a face and figure somberly different from the tri-colored one of the clown, and a voice more raucously insistent than his.

All at once the twins also saw and heard. Their attention was clutched, as it were, from those adorable monkeys a-horseback, which had come once more to the very spot before where they stood, and whom in their baby-souls they envied frantically.

"HIM!" shrieked Ananias.

"H-I-M!" echoed Sapphira, all her pretty pink-and-whiteness turned the pallor of fear.

There was a flash of bare feet and blue-denimed legs and the terrified twins had leaped the velvet-topped barrier bordering the ring and were scurrying heedlessly away, how and where they cared not except to be safe from that "Him" whose memory was a pain.

"My soul! They'll be killed—the little rascals!" cried Jim, and leaped the barrier, in pursuit.

"He can't catch 'em! I'll help!" and fat Monty rolled himself over the fence.

"What's up, boys?" demanded Frazer Moore; and, perceiving, added himself to the rescuing party. Ditto, Mike; then Littlejohn and Danny. This was the chance of a lifetime! to be themselves "performers." Only Melvin and Herbert rose, hesitating, amazed—and, seeing the little ones, whom everybody tried to catch and who eluded every grasp, in such imminent peril of trampling horse-hoofs, they also followed the leader.

Even Mr. Winters rose to his feet and watched in deep anxiety the outcome of this escapade, and the darting nimbleness of two small figures which everybody, from the ring-master down, was chasing like mad. Only the trained horsemen and their following troupe of monkeys kept on unmindful; while from the seats on every side ran shouts of laughter. To most of those onlookers this seemed a part, a delightfully arranged part, of the entertainment. Only those nearest, and the farrier was one of them, realized that the strange old man with the croaking voice was an alien to that scene. A half-crazed old man who felt called upon to deliver his "message" of warning to a sinful world, at all times, seasons, and places. He had stumbled upon this as a fine field and, unbalanced though his mind was, it had yet been clear enough for him to purchase a ticket and enter in the customary way.

"Oh! will he take the twins away?" asked Dorothy, clasping her hands in dismay. "And will they—be—killed!"

"I think not, to both questions. Evidently he has not perceived the children though they were quick enough to discover him. The pity! that one should inspire such fear in his own household! But, see! See!"

Mr. Winters forgot the old exhorter for the moment and laughed aloud.

In the ring the clown had, at first, pretended to join in the pursuit of the nimble runaways, but only pretended. Then he suddenly perceived that they were growing breathless and had almost fallen beneath the feet of a mighty Norman horse. The man beneath his motley uniform rose to the emergency. Catching the bridle of a near-by pony, he flung the monkey from its back, scooped the babies up from the ground, set them in the monkey's place and, mounting behind them, triumphantly fell into line.

It was all so quickly done that its bravery was but half appreciated; and the absurdly grinning mask which he now waggled from side to side, as if bowing to an outburst of applause, roused a roar of laughter. As for Ananias and Sapphira—their felicity was complete. The stern grandparent was forgotten and the only fact they knew was this marvelous ride on a marvelous steed, and most marvelous of all, in the friendly grasp of the tri-colored person behind them.

Mr. Winters turned from them for a moment, at the sound of a scuffle near by. An instant's glance showed him that the poor fanatic was being roughly handled by some employees of the circus, and he stepped forward protesting:

"Don't do that! He'll go quietly enough if you just ask him. He's a feeble old man—be gentle!"

"But we want no 'cranks' in here creating a disturbance! Enough has happened this performance, already!"



"Jim! James Barlow! Herbert Montaigne!" These two were the only ones left still in the ring of the lot who had pursued the runaway twins, the others having shamefacedly retreated as soon as they saw the children were safe. They looked toward the Master yet lingered to receive the twins whom their captor was now willing to resign; they struggling to remain and a mixed array of flying legs and arms resulting.

However, neither screams nor obstreperous kicks availed to prolong that delectable ride, and presently the little ones found themselves back in the grasp of a bevy of girls who made a human fence about them, and so hedged them in to safety.

"Lads, I must leave you to see our girls safe home. Do so immediately the performance is over and it must be nearly now. This poor old chap is ill and bemused by his rough handling. I'm going to take him to a hospital I know and have him cared for. I'll go down to Deerhurst as soon as I can but don't wait for me. Come, friend. Let us go;" and linking his strong arm within the weak one of the man, scarce older yet so much frailer than he, he walked quietly away, the fanatic unresisting and obedient.

With the Master's departure the glamour faded from the "Show"; and at Helena's suggestion the whole party promptly made their exit.

"It's a wise move, too, Helena. We can catch the five o'clock train down and it won't be crowded, as the later one will be. I fancy we've all had about all the circus we want—this time. Anybody got a rope?" said Herbert.

"What in the world do you want of a rope?" asked his sister.

"I think if we could tie these irrepressibles together we could better keep track of them."

There were some regretful looks backward to that fascinating tent, when the older lads had marshalled their party outwards, with no difficulty now in passing the obstructing stile; but there were no objections raised, and the homeward trip began. But they had scarcely cleared the grounds when Molly Martin paused to ask:

"Where's Jane Potter?"

"Oh! hang Jane Potter! Is she lost again?" asked Danny Smith. Then with a happy thought, adding: "I'll go back and look for her!" In this way hoping for a second glimpse of the fairy-land he had been forced to leave.

Whereupon, his brother reminded him that he had no ticket, and no fellow gets in twice on one. Besides, that girl isn't—Hmm.

"She's probably lingered to study biology or—or something about animals," observed Monty. "Any way, we can afford to risk Jane Potter. Like enough we shall find her sitting on the piazza writing her impressions of a circus when we get home."

They did. She had early tired of the entertainment and had been one of the first to leave the tent after the accident to it. Once outside, she had met a mountain neighbor and had begged a ride home in his wagon. Jane was one to be careful of Jane and rather thoughtless of others, yet in the main a very good and proper maiden.

But if they did not delay on account of Jane they were compelled to do so by the twins.

"These children are as slippery as eels," said Molly, who had never touched an eel. "I'll lend my 'son' to anybody wants him, for awhile. I'd—I'd as lief as not!" she finished, quoting an expression familiar to Alfy.

"And I'll lend 'Phira!" added Dorothy.

She had tried to lead the little one and still keep her arm about Luna, who by general consent was always left to her charge.

"All right. Give her here!" said Frazer; while Herbert whistled for a waiting stage to approach. But as it drew near and the girls began to clamber in, preparatory to their ride stationwards, Ananias jerked himself free and springing to one side the road began a series of would-be somersaults. It was an effort on his part to follow Herbert's instructions—with doubtful success. Of course, what brother did sister must do, and Sapphira promptly emulated her twin.

"Oh! the mud! Just look at them! How can we ever take them in that stage with us?" asked Mabel Bruce, in disgust.

But the happy youngsters paid no attention to her. Having completed what Herbert had taught them to call their "stunt" they now approached their instructor and demanded:

"Candy, what you promised!"

"All right. Driver, we'll stop at the first confectioner's we pass and I'll fill them up."

"But, Herbert, you should not. Don't you remember how ill they were from Molly's supply? And I do say, if you led them into this scrape, getting themselves in such a mess, you'll have to ride in front and keep them with you."

Herbert made a wry face. He was always extremely careful in his dress and his sister's just suggestion wasn't pleasant. However, he made the best of it and no further untoward incident marked that day's outing.

Arrived at home they found Jane calmly reading, as has been told, and no other one about except old Ephraim, who had not unfastened the doors for "jes one l'il gal," but now threw them wide for the "House Party." Then he retreated to the kitchen, where Dorothy found him stirring about in a vain attempt to get supper—a function out of his line.

"Now, Ephy, dear, you can't do that, you know! You're a blessed old blunderer, but one doesn't boil water for tea in a leaky coffee-pot! Wait! I'll tell you! I'll call the girls and we'll make a 'bee' of it and get the supper ourselves, before Aunt Malinda and Dinah and the rest get back. They'll be sure to stay till the last——"

"Till the 'last man is hung'!" finished Alfaretta, with prompt inelegance.

"Oh! I'm just starving!" wailed a boyish voice, and Monty rushed in.

"So are we all, so are we all!" cried others and the kitchen rang with the youthful, merry voices.

Ephraim scratched his gray wool and tried to look stern, but Dorothy's "Ephy, dear!" had gone straight to his simple heart, so lately wounded and sorrowful. After all, the world wasn't such a dark place, even if he had missed the circus, now that all these chatterers were treating him just as of old. They were so happy, themselves, that their happiness overflowed upon him.

Cried Jim Barlow, laying a friendly hand on the black man's shoulder:

"Come on, Ephy, boy! If the girls are going to make a 'bee,' and get supper for all hands—including the cook—let's match them by doing the chores for the men. The 'help' have done a lot for us, these days, and it's fair we do a hand's-turn for them now! Come on, all! Monty, you shall throw down fodder for the cattle—it's all you're equal to. Some of us will milk, some take care of the horses, everybody must do something, and I appoint Danny Smith to be story-teller-in-chief, and describe that circus so plain that Ephraim can see it without the worry of going!"

"Hip, hip, hooray! Let's make a lark of it!" echoed Herbert, now forgetful of his good clothes and eager only to bear his part with the rest.

"Well, before we begin, let's get the twins each a bowl of bread and milk and tie them in their chairs, just as Dinah does when they bother. They mustn't touch that candy till afterward, though I don't know how Herbert ever kept it from them so long," said Molly Breckenridge, adjusting a kitchen apron to her short figure by tucking it into her belt.

"I know! I sat on it!" called back the lad and disappeared barnwards.

Luna was placed in her corner and given a bowl like the twins, and the girls set to work, even Jane Potter asking to help.

"What all shall we cook? I can make fudges," said Molly.

"Fudges are all right—you may make some, but I want something better than sweets. Helena, you're the oldest, you begin. Suggest—then follow your suggestions. Fortunately we've a pretty big range to work on and Ephraim can make a fire if he can't make tea. It's burning fine. Hurry up, Helena, and speak, else Alfaretta will explode. She's impatient enough," urged Dorothy.

"Once—I made angel food," said Helena, rather timidly. "It didn't turn out a real success, but I think that was because I didn't use eggs enough."

"How many did you use?"

"A dozen."

"Try a dozen and a half. There's a basket of them yonder in the storeroom and everybody must wait on everybody's self. Else we'll never get through. I'll light up, it's getting dark already," answered Dorothy who, as hostess, was naturally considered director of affairs.

"Well, Alfy! What will you do?"

"I can fry chicken to beat the Dutch!"

"Hope you can," laughed Helena. "I'm not fond of Dutch cookery, I've tried it abroad. They put vinegar in everything."

"But where will you get chicken to fry?"

"There's a whole slew of them in the ice-box, all ready fixed to cook. I suppose Aunt Malinda won't like it, to have me take them, if she's planned them for some other time, but there's plenty more chickens in the world. Come along, Jane Potter, and get a pan of potatoes to peel. That's the sitting-downest job there is. Molly Martin, you can make nice raised—I mean bakin'-powder biscuit—there's the flour barrel. Don't waste any time. Everybody fly around sharp and do her level best!"

After all it was Alfaretta who took charge, and under her capable direction every girl was presently busy at work.

"I'm going to make pies. Two lemons, two punkins, two apples. That ought to be enough to go around; only they'll all want the lemon ones. 'Christ Church,' Teacher told me when I made him one once. Said 'twas the pastry cook at Christ Church College, in England, 't first thought them out. I can make 'em good, too. What you goin' to make, yourself, Dorothy Calvert?"

"I reckon—pop-overs. Mother Martha used to make them lovely. They're nothing but eggs and flour and—and—I'll have to think. Oh! I know. There's an old recipe book in the cupboard, though I don't believe Malinda can read a word in it. She just spreads it out on the table, important like, and pretends she follows its rules, but often I've seen it was upside down. Do you know how she makes jelly?"

"No, nor don't want to. We ain't makin' jelly to-night, and do for goodness' sake get to work!" cried Alfaretta, imparting energy to all by her own activity. "Ma says I'm a born cook and I'm going to prove it, to-night, though I don't expect to cook for a living. Jane Potter, you ought to know better than peel them 'tatoes so thick. 'Many littles make a mickle,' I mean a lot of potato skins make a potato—Oh! bother, do right, that's all. Just because Mrs. Calvert she's a rich 'ristocratic, 'tain't no reason we should waste her substance on the pigs."

Jane did not retort, but it was noticeable that thereafter she kept her eyes more closely on her work and not dreamily upon the floor. Presently, from out that roomy kitchen rose a medley of odors that floated even to the workers out of doors; each odor most appetizing and distinct to the particular taste of one or another of the lads.

"That's fried chicken! Glad they had sense enough to give us something hearty," said Monty, smacking his lips.

Herbert sniffed, then advised: "I'll warrant you that Helena will try angel cake. If she does, don't any of you touch it; or if you think that isn't polite and will hurt her feelings, why take a piece and leave it lie beside your plate. Wonder if they'll ever get the supper ready, anyhow."

"Afraid it'll be just 'anyhow,'" wailed Monty. "Those girls can't cook worth a cent."

"Don't you think that, sir. Our up-mountain girls are no fools. I hope Alfaretta Babcock will make pies, I've et 'em to picnics and they're prime," said Mike Martin, loyally.

"Well, I only hope they don't keep us too long. I begin to feel as if I could eat hay with the cattle."

After all, the young cooks were fairly successful, and the delay not very great. Most of them were well trained helpers at home, even Dorothy had been such; but this time she had failed.

"Three times I've made those things just exactly like the rule—only four times as much—and those miserable pop-overs just will not pop! We might as well call the boys and give them what there is. And——"

At this moment Dorothy withdrew her head from a careful scrutiny of the oven, and—screamed! The next instant she had darted forward to the imposing figure framed in the doorway and thrown her arms about it, crying:

"O, Aunt Betty, Aunt Betty! I'm a bad, careless girl, but I love you and I'm so glad, so glad you've come!"



CHAPTER XIV

AUNT BETTY TAKES A HAND

That picnic-supper! The fun of it must be imagined, not described. Sufficient to say that it was the merriest meal yet served in that great mansion; that all, including Mrs. Calvert, brought to it appetites which did not hesitate at "failures," and found even Helena's angel cake palatable, though Herbert did remark to his next neighbor:

"If they'd had that kind of leathery stuff instead of canvas to cover that circus tent it would never have broken through, never in the world!"

Not the least delighted of that company were the servants, who returned late from their outing, and had had to walk up the mountain from the Landing; they having lingered in the hill-city till the last possible train, which there were no local stages to meet.

"And to think that our Miss Dorothy had the kindness to get supper for us, too! Sure, she's the bonniest, dearest lass ever lived out of old Ireland. Hungry, say you? Sure I could have et the two shoes off my feet, I was that starved! And to think of her and them others just waitin' on us same's if we was the family! Bless her! And now I'm that filled I feel at peace with all the world and patience enough to chase them naughty spalpeens to their bed! See at 'em! As wide awake now as the morn and it past nine of the night!" cried Norah, coming into the room where the twins were having a delightful battle with the best sofa cushions; Mrs. Calvert looking on with much amusement and as yet not informed who they were and why so at home at Deerhurst.

The chatter of tongues halted a little when, as the clock struck the half-hour, Mr. Seth came in. He looked very weary, but infinitely relieved at the unexpected return of the mistress of the house, and his greeting was most cordial. Indeed, there was something about it which suggested to the young guests that their elders might wish to be alone; so, one after another, they bade Mrs. Betty good-night and disappeared.

Dorothy, also, was for slipping quietly away, but Aunt Betty bade her remain; saying gently:

"We won't sleep, my child, till we have cleared away all the clouds between us. As for you, Cousin Seth, what has so wearied you? Something more than chaperoning a lot of young folks to a circus, I fancy."

"You're right. The afternoon performance was a pleasure; the ride home a trial."

"With whom did you ride?"

"Oliver Sands."

"Indeed? How came——"

"It's a long story, Cousin Betty. Wouldn't we better wait till morning?"

"Don't you know how much curiosity I have? Do you want to keep me awake all night?" demanded the lady. But she believed that her old friend had some deep perplexity on his mind and that it would be a comfort to him to share it with her. "Is it something Dorothy may hear?"

"Certainly, if you wish. Already she knows part. Has she told you how the twins came here?"

"Somebody told, I forget who. All of the young folks talked at once, but I learned that they had been dropped on our premises, like a couple of kittens somebody wished to lose."

"Exactly; and though he did not personally 'drop' them, the man who most heartily wishes to lose them is miller Oliver Sands. They are his most unwelcome grandchildren."

"Why, Cousin Seth!" "Why, Master!" cried the hearers, amazed.

"True. Their mother was Rose Sands, whom her father always believed—or said—was ruined by the foolish name her mother gave her. His sons were like himself and are, I believe, good men enough, though tainted with their father's hardness."

"Hardness. That suave old Quaker! But you're right, and I never liked him."

"Nor I, I'm sorry to say, but I don't wish to let that fact stand in the way of fair judgment. The man is in trouble, deep trouble. I'm not the only one who has noticed it. His behavior for awhile back has been most peculiar. He neglects his business, leaves the fruit in his vineyards and orchards to go to waste, and to his workmen's question: 'What shall we do next,' returns no answer. He has taken to roaming about the country, calling at every house and inspecting each one and its surroundings as if he were looking for something he can't find. His face has lost its perpetual smile—or smirk—and betrays the fact that he is an old man and a most unhappy one."

"Huh! I've no great sympathy for Oliver Sands. He has wronged too many people," said Mrs. Calvert, coldly. "But if those children are his grandchildren, what are they doing here?"

"I'm coming to that. His daughter, Rose, 'married out of meeting,' and against her father's will. He turned her out of doors, forbade her mother ever to see or speak to her again, and though—being a Friend—he took no oath, his resolution to cast her off was equivalent to one. That part of my tale is common neighborhood gossip."

"I never heard it," said Mrs. Betty.

"No; such would scarcely be retailed to you. Well, Rose took refuge with her husband's people, and all misfortune followed her flight from her father's house. Her mother-in-law, her consumptive husband, and herself are dead; she passing away as the twins came into the world. The father-in-law, who was only a country-cobbler, but a profoundly religious man, became half-crazed by his troubles, and though I believe he honestly did his best by the babies left on his hands, they must have suffered much. They have never been so happy as now and I hope——"

"Please, Mr. Seth, let me tell! Aunt Betty, if you'll let me, I want to adopt Sapphira!"

"Adopt—Sapphira! You? A child yourself?"

"Yes, please. I'll go without everything myself and I'd work, if I could, to earn money to do it. Molly is going to adopt Ananias. It will be lovely to have some object in life, and some the Seniors at the Rhinelander adopted some Chinese babies. True. They pay money each month, part of their allowance, to do it; so we thought——"

But Aunt Betty was leaning back in her chair and laughing in a most disconcerting manner. It's not easy to be enthusiastic on a subject that is ridiculed and Dorothy said no more. But if she were hurt by having her unselfish project thus lightly treated, she was made instantly glad by the tender way her guardian drew her close, and the gentle pat of the soft old hand on her own cheek.

"Oh! you child, you children! And I made the mistake of thinking you were as wise as a grown-up! We'll attend to the 'adoption' case, by and by. Let Cousin Seth say his say now."

"Well, finally, the old man, Hiram Bowen, forsook his old home, sold his few belongings and came here to our mountain. He must have had some sense left, and realized that he was not long for this world, because though until lately he has been unforgiving to Oliver Sands for the treatment of Rose, he now sought to interest her father on the little ones' behalf. I've learned he made frequent visits to Heartsease, the Sands' farm, but only once saw its owner. But he often saw Dorcas, the wife, and found her powerless to help him; besides, he did not mend matters, even with her, by explaining that he had named the twins as he had—'after her husband, and herself!' He told her that she and Oliver were living liars, because the Scripture commanded Christians to look after their own households and they did not do so."

"But how could her heart, the heart of any woman, remain hard against the sight of her orphan grandchildren?" demanded Mrs. Calvert, impatiently. "I've met that Dorcas Sands on the road, going to meeting with the miller, and she looked the very soul of meekness and gentleness."

"So, I believe she is; but she never saw the children. I told you he was crazed, partially; and despite the fact that he felt their mother's family should care for the orphans he did not want to give them up, permanently. He felt that in doing so he would be consigning them to a life of deceit and unscrupulousness."

"How strange! And, Seth, how strange that you should know all this. It's not many days since that old man 'passed them on' to us. You must have been busy gathering news," commented Mrs. Betty.

"I have; but the most of it I learned this afternoon, when I was taking the fanatic to the Hospital. Dolly, you tell her about his harangue in the tent and what the twins did there. It will give a diversion to my thoughts, for it was funny!"

So Dolly told and they all laughed over the recital, and in the laughter both Mrs. Calvert and Dorothy lost the last bit of constraint that had remained in their manner whenever either chanced to remember the missing one hundred dollars and the sharpness of the telegram.

Mrs. Calvert resumed:

"You say, taking him to the Hospital. Have you done that, then? And how came you with Oliver Sands? The last man in the world to be drawn to Newburgh to see a circus."

"Not the circus, of course, but the county fair. He got up enough interest in ordinary affairs to drive to the fair grounds to see his cattle safely housed. He will have, I presume, the finest exhibit of Holstein-Friesians on the grounds. He always has had, and has carried off many first premiums. He's on the board of managers, too, and they had a business meeting at the Chairman's, which is next door to St. Michael's—the semi-private establishment where I took Bowen. He was just unhitching George Fox, to come home, as I stepped out of the Hospital grounds and met him."

"So you asked him for a lift down?" asked Aunt Betty, smiling.

"No, I didn't ask. He was so preoccupied, and I so full of what poor old Hiram had told me, that I just 'natchally' stepped into the rear seat without the formality of a request. Truly, I don't think he even noticed me till we were well out of the city limits and on to the quiet back road. Then I asked: 'How much will you pay, Friend Oliver, toward the support of Hiram Bowen at St. Michael's Hospital?'

"Then he heard and noticed. Also, he tried to get rid of his passenger; but I wouldn't be set down. He gave me a rather strong bit of his opinion on meddlers in general and myself in particular, and finding he had me on his hands for all the distance here he said not another word. It was 'Quaker Meeting' in good earnest; but I felt as if I were riding with a man of iron and—it tired me!"

"Oh, you dear Master! Did you have any supper?" suddenly demanded Dorothy, with compunction that she hadn't thought of this earlier.

"Oh! yes. Some little girls were holding a sidewalk 'fair' for the benefit of the children's ward and, while the authorities inside were arranging for Hiram's bestowal, I bought out their stock in trade and we ate it all together. I do love children!"

Aunt Betty rose and turning to Dorothy, remarked:

"That should be a much better use for your money when you find it than adopting the grandchildren of a rich old Hardheart! Come, child, we must to bed; and to-morrow, we'll take home the twins. 'Pass them on' to Heartsease."

"Oh! must we? But, maybe, they won't keep them there. Then, course, you wouldn't leave them just anywhere, out of doors, would you? Besides, I don't know what Molly will say. She's perfectly devoted to her 'son,' 'Nias."

"Do you not? Then I know very well what her Aunt Lucretia and his honor, the Judge, will say; I fancy that their remarks will have some weight! But I'm not hard-hearted, as you suggest, and we shall see what we shall see!" answered Aunt Betty, in her bright, whimsical way; adding as she bade Mr. Winters good-night and kissed Dorothy just as if no "cloud" had ever been between them:

"I am glad to be at home. I am so glad to come, even thus late to the House Party."

And though she had said the misunderstanding that had made both herself and Dolly so unhappy "should be set right that very night," maybe this was her way of "setting" it so.

Thus ended another Day of that Wonderful Week, but the morning proved rainy and dark.

"No day for going to the County Fair," remarked Mrs. Calvert as she appeared among the young folks, just as they came trooping in to breakfast. "We must think of something else. What shall it be? Since I've invited myself to your Party I want to get some fun out of it!"

Helena thought she had never seen anything lovelier than this charming old lady, who moved as briskly as a girl and entered into their amusements like one; and when nobody answered her question she volunteered the suggestion:

"Charades? Or a little play in the big barn?"

"Just the thing; the charades, I mean. There would hardly be time for getting ready for a play, with parts to study and so on. We might plan that for Friday evening, our last one together. But do you, my dear, gather part of your friends about you and arrange the charades. Enough of us must be left for audience, you know. Well, Dorothy, what is it? You seem so anxious to speak?"

"Why not 'character' studies and make everybody guess. There's that attic full of trunks I discovered one day. Surely they must be full of lovely things; and oh! it's so jolly to 'dress up'! Afterward, we might have a little dance in the barn—May we, may we?"

"Surely, we may! Dinah has the keys to the trunks, only I warn you—no carelessness. It's one of my notions to preserve the costumes of the passing years and I wouldn't like them injured. You may use anything you find, on the condition of being careful."

That rainy day promised to be the merriest of all; and Dorothy had quite forgotten some unpleasant things, till, breakfast being over and most of the company disappearing in pursuit of Dinah and her keys to the treasure-trunks, Aunt Betty laid a detaining touch upon her arm and said:

"But you and I, my dear, will have a little talk in my room."

Down went her happiness in a flash. The "misunderstanding" had not been passed by, then; and as yet there had been no "setting right." Mrs. Calvert's face was not stern, saying this, but the girl so thought. Indeed, had she known it, Aunt Betty shrank more from the interview and the reproof she must give than did the culprit herself. However, shrinking did no good, and immediately the Mistress had seated herself she began:

"What grieved me most was your suspicion of Ephraim. Dorothy, that man's skin may be black but his soul is as white as a soul can be. He has served me ever since he was able to toddle and I have yet to find the first serious fault in him. The loss of the money was bad enough, and your scant value of it bad. Why, child, do you know whose money that was?"

"I—I thought it was—mine."

"It was—God's."

"Aunt—Betty!" almost screamed Dorothy in the shock of this statement.

"Yes, my dear, I mean it. He has given me a great deal of wealth but it was His gift, only. Or, His loan, I might better call it. I have to give an account of my stewardship, and as you will inherit after me, so have you."

For a moment the girl could not reply, she was so amazed by what she heard. Then she ventured to urge:

"You said you gave it to me for my House Party. How could it be like that, then?"

"So I did. I 'passed it on,' as poor Hiram Bowen did the twins. Then it became your responsibility. It was a trust fund for the happiness of others, and for their benefit. Why, just think, if you hadn't been so careless of it, how much good it would have done even yesterday, for that very old man! Then dear Seth wouldn't have had to tax his small income to pay for a stranger's keep. Ah! believe me, my Cousin Seth spends money lavishly, but never unwisely, and always for others. When I said 'dangerously angry' I meant it. I am, in some respects, always in danger, physically. I shall pass out of your life quite suddenly, some day, my darling, but I do not wish to do so by your fault.

"Now, enough of lectures. Kiss me and tell me that hereafter you will hold your inheritance as a 'trust,' and I shall trust you again to the uttermost. Next I want you to go over every incident of that night when you mislaid the money and maybe I can hit upon some clue to its recovery."

It was a very sober Dorothy who complied. It didn't seem a very pleasant thing to be an heiress. She had found that out before, but this grave interview confirmed the knowledge; and though they discussed the subject long and critically, they were no nearer any solution of the mystery than when they began.

"Well, it is a strange and most uncomfortable thing. However, we can do no more at present, and I'd like you to take a little drive with me."

"This morning, Aunt Betty, in all this rain? Ought you? Won't you get that bronchitis again? Dinah——"

"Dinah is an old fuss! She never has believed that I'm not soluble in water, like salt or sugar. Besides, I'm not going 'in the rain,' I'm going in the close carriage, along with you and the babies with the dreadful names. I'm going to have them renamed, if I can. Run along and put on your jacket. I think I've solved the riddle of my neighbor Oliver's unhappiness and I'll let no rain hinder me from making him glad again."

"Dear Aunt Betty, will you do this for a man you do not like?"

"Of course. I'd do it for my worst enemy, if I knew—and maybe this poor miller is that. What ails that man is—remorse. He hasn't done right but I'm going to give him the chance now, and see his round face fall into its old curves again."

But good and unselfish as her mission was, for once the lady of Deerhurst's judgment was mistaken.



CHAPTER XV

A MARVELOUS TALE AND ITS ENDING

Oliver Sands was shut up in his private office. It opened from another larger room that had once been tenanted but was now empty. The emptiness of the great chamber, with its small bed and simple furnishings, both attracted and repelled him, as was witnessed by the fact that he frequently rose and closed the door, only to rise again directly and open it again. Each time he did this he peered all about the big room, whose windows were screened by wire netting as well as by a row of spruce trees. These trees were trimmed in a peculiar manner and were often commented upon by passers along the road beyond. All the lower branches, to the height of the window-tops, were left to grow, luxuriantly, as nature had designed. But above that the tall trees were shaven almost bare, only sufficient branches being left to keep them alive. Also, beyond the trees and bordering the road was a high brick wall, presumably for the training of peach and other fruit trees, for such were carefully trained to it.

But the same wondering eyes which had noticed the trees had observed the wall, where indeed the fruit grew lusciously after a custom common enough in England but almost unknown in this region.

"Looks like both trees and wall were planned to let light into that side the house and keep eyes out. But, has been so ever since Heartsease was, and nothing different now."

No, everything was outwardly unchanged, but his home was not like his home, that morning, when Mrs. Betty Calvert came to call. The rain that had kept him within had sent him to pass the hours of his imprisonment in his "den," or office, and to the congenial occupation of looking over the cash in his strong box. He was too wise to keep much there, but there had been a time when the occupation had served to amuse the inmate of the big room, and he was thinking of her now.

Indeed, when there came a knock on the outer door he started, and quickly demanded: "Well?"

"Oliver, Betty Calvert, from Deerhurst, has called to see thee," said the trembling voice of Dorcas.

"Why? What does she want?"

"To bring thee news. To bring thee a blessing, she says."

"I will come."

He rose and locked the strong box, inwardly resolving that its contents must be placed in the bank when next he drove to town, and he again carefully closed the door of the further room. But if there had been any to observe they would have seen his face grow eager with hope while his strong frame visibly trembled. He was not a superstitious man but he had dreamed of Deerhurst more than once of late and news from Deerhurst? A blessing, Dorcas said?

He entered the living-room, cast one eager glance around, and sat down. He had offered no salutation whatever to Mrs. Calvert and the gloom had returned to his face even more deeply. Dorcas was standing wringing her hands, smiling and weeping by turns, and gazing in a perfect ecstasy of eagerness upon Ananias and Sapphira, huddled against Dorothy's knees. She held them close, as if fearing that cross old man would do them harm, but they were not at all abashed, either by him or by the novelty of the place.

"Well, Oliver Sands, you like plain speech and use it. So do I—on occasion. I have brought home your grandchildren, Rose's children. Their grandfather on the other side has been committed to an institution and will give you no trouble. He 'passed them on' to my household and I, in turn, 'pass them on,' to yours, their rightful home. You will feel happier now. Good-morning."

"What makes thee think he is unhappy?" ventured Dorcas, at last turning her eager gaze away from the twins.

"All the world sees that. He's a changed man since last we met, and I suppose his conscience is troubling him on account of the way he treated Rose and her children. Their demented grandfather, on the other side, gave them horrible names. I'd change them if I were you. Good-morning."

But if the miller had not sought to detain her nor responded to her farewell, Dorcas caught at her cloak and begged:

"Wait, wait! Oliver, does thee hear? Elisabeth Calvert is going. She is leaving Rose's babies! What—what—shall I do? May I keep them here? Say it—Oliver speak, speak, quick! If thee does right in this thing mayhap the Lord will bless thee in the other! Oliver, Oliver!"

He shook her frail hand from his sleeve but he spoke the word she longed to hear, though the shadow on his face seemed rather to deepen than to lighten and astute Betty Calvert was non-plussed. She had so fully counted upon the fact that it was remorse concerning his treatment of his daughter which burdened him that she could not understand his increased somberness.

But he did speak, as he left the room, and the words his wife desired:

"Thee may do as thee likes."

Then Mrs. Calvert, too, went out and Dorothy with her; strangely enough the twins making no effort to follow; in fact no effort toward anything except a pan of fresh cookies which stood upon the table! and with their fists full of these they submitted indifferently not only to the desertion of their friends but to the yearning embraces of their grandmother.

"Oh! what perfectly disgusting little creatures! Didn't mind our leaving them with a stranger nor anything! Weren't they horrid? And it didn't make him look any happier, either, their coming."

"No, they were not disgusting, simply natural. They've been half-starved most of their lives and food seems to them, just now, the highest good;" said Aunt Betty, as the carriage door was shut upon them and they set out for home. "I cannot call it a wasted morning, since that timid little woman was made glad and two homeless ones have come into their own. But—my guess was wide of the mark. It isn't remorse ails my miller neighbor but some mystery still unsolved. Ah! me! And I thought I was beautifully helping Providence!"

"So you have, Aunt Betty. Course. Only how we shall miss those twins! Seems if I couldn't bear to quite give 'Phira up. Deerhurst will be so lonesome!"

"Lonesome, child! with all you young folks in it? Then just imagine for an instant what Heartsease must have been to that poor wife. Shut up alone with such a glum, indifferent husband, in that big house. I saw no other person anywhere about, did you?"

"No, and, since you put it that way, of course I'm glad they're to be hers not Molly's and mine."

"The queer thing is that he was so indifferent. I thought, I was prepared to have him rage and act—ugly, at my interference in his affairs; but he paid no more attention than if I had dropped a couple of puppies at his fireside. Hmm. Queer, queer! But if I'm not mistaken his young relatives will wake him up a bit before he's done with them."

After all, though Dorothy had hated to leave the other young folks on such an errand, through such weather, and in some fear of further "lectures," the ride to Heartsease had proved delightful. She wouldn't have missed the rapture on lonely Dorcas Sands's pale face for the wildest frolic going and, after all, it was a relief to know the "twinses" could do no more mischief for which she might be blamed; and it remained now only to appease the wrath of Molly Breckenridge when she was told that her adopted "son" had been removed from her authority without so much as "By your leave."

Naturally, Molly said nothing in Mrs. Calvert's presence, but vented her displeasure on Dorothy in private; until the latter exclaimed:

"You would have been glad, just glad, Molly dear, to hear the way the poor old lady said over and over again: 'Rose's children! Rose's children!' Just that way she said it and she was a picture. I wish I was a Quaker and wore gray gowns and little, teeny-tiny white caps and white something folded around my shoulders. Oh! she was just too sweet for words! Besides—to come right to the bottom of things—neither of us could adopt a child, yet. We haven't any money."

"Pshaw! We could get it!"

"I couldn't. Maybe you could; but—I'm glad they're gone. It's better for them and we shouldn't have been let anyway, and—where's Helena?"

"Up garret, yet. They're all up there. Let's hurry. They'll have all the nicest things picked out, if we don't."

They "hurried" and before they knew it the summons came for luncheon. After that was over Danny Smith and Alfaretta Babcock mysteriously disappeared for a time; returning to their mates with an I-know-something-you-don't sort of an air, which was tantalizing yet somehow suggested delighted possibilities. The afternoon passed with equal swiftness, and then came the costume parade in the barn; the charades; and, at last, that merry Roger de Coverly, with Mrs. Betty, herself, and Cousin Seth leading off, and doing their utmost to teach the mountain lads and lassies the figures.

All the servants came out to sit around and enjoy the merry spectacle while old Ephraim, perched upon a hay-cutter plied his violin—his fiddle he called it—and another workman plunked away on his banjo till the rafters rang.

"Oh, such a tangle! And it seems so easy!" cried Jane Potter, for once aroused to enthusiasm for something beside study. "Come on, Martin! Come half-way down and go round behind me—Oh! Pshaw! You stupid!"

Yet uttered in that tone the reproof meant no offense and Jane was as awkward as her partner, but the dance proved a jolly ending for a very jolly day. Only, the day was not ended yet; for with a crisp command:

"Every one of you get your places an' set round in a circle. It's Danny's and my turn now, and—Come on, Daniel!" Alfaretta vanished in the harness room.

Danny followed, rather sheepishly, for despite his love of fun he didn't enjoy being forced into prominence; and from this odd retreat the pair presently emerged with great pans of snowy popped-corn, balanced on their heads by the aid of one hand, while in the other they carried each a basket of the biggest apples even Melvin had ever seen; yet the wonder of the Nova Scotian apples had been one of his proudest boasts.

"Jump up, Jim, in your 'Uncle Sam' clothes and fetch the jugs out. Fresh sweet cider, made to farmer Smith's this very day! There's nuts in there all cracked, for some of you other fellows to bring and tumblers and plates 't Aunt Malinda let us take. We've had ice-cream and plum-puddin' and every kind of a thing under the sun and now we're going to have just plain up-mounting stuff, and you'll say it's prime! Danny and me done this. We planned it that night Monty got stuck—Oh! my soul, I forgot!"

"Never mind. I don't care," said Monty; and, maybe to prevent another doing so, promptly related for Mrs. Calvert's benefit the tale of his misadventure. Indeed, he told it in such a funny way that it was plain he was no longer sensitive about it; and he finished with the remark that:

"If Deerhurst folks don't stop feeding me so much I may even get stuck in that big door!"

The quiet sitting and talking after so much hilarity was pleasant to all and tended to a more thoughtful mood; and finally clapping her hands to insure attention Molly Breckenridge demanded:

"A story, a story! A composite story! Please begin, Mrs. Calvert: 'Once upon a time——' Then let Helena, my Lady of the Crinoline take it up and add a little, then the next one to her, and the next—and so on all around the ring. The most fun is to each say something that will fit—yet won't make sense—with what went just before. Please!"

"Very well: 'Once upon a time and very good times they was, there was a Mouse and a Grouse and a Little Red Hen and they all lived in the one house together. So wan day, as she was swapin' the floor, they met a grain o' cor-run.' 'Now, who'll take that to the mill?' 'I won't,' says the Mouse. 'Nayther will I!' say the Grouse. 'Then I'll aven have to do it mesel,' says the Little Red—Next!"

Irish Norah was in ecstasies of laughter over her mistress's imitation of her own brogue, and all the company was smiling, as Helena's serious voice took up the tale:

"'Twas in the dead of darksome, dreadful, dreary night, when the Little Red Hen set forth on her long, lonely, unfrequented road to the Mill. The Banshees howled, the weird Sisters of the Night made desperate attempts to seize the Grain of Corn—Next!"

"Which, for safe keeping the fearless Little Red Hen had already clapped into her own bill—just like this! So let the Banshees howl, the Weird Sisters Dree their Weird—for Only Three Grains of Corn, Alfy! Only Three Grains of Corn!" cried Monty, passing his empty plate; "and I'll grind them in a mill that'll beat the Hen's all hollow! while Jane Potter—next!"

"For the prisoner was terrified by the sounds upon the roof and after brief deliberation and close investigation he came to the conclusion, 'twas a snare and a delusion to toy with imagination and fear assassination till the hallucination became habituation and his mental aberration get the better of his determination toward analyzation of the sound upon the roof. Of the pat, pat, patter and the clat, clat, clatter of small claws upon the roof! Then with loud cachinnation—Next!"

"To drive the Little Red Hen off from the roof he sprang up and bumped his head against it; and the act was so unexpected by said Hen that she flew off, choked on her grain of corn and—Next!" cried Jim, while everybody shouted and Mrs. Calvert declared that she had never heard such a string of long words tied together and asked:

"How could you think of them all, Jane?"

"Oh! easily enough. I'd rather read the dictionary than any other book. I've only a school one yet but I've most enough saved to buy an Unabridged. Then——"

"Oh! then deliver us from the learned Jane Potter! Problem: If a small school dictionary can work such havoc with a young maid's brain will the Unabridged drive her to a lunatic asylum? or to the mill where the Little Red Hen—Next!" put in Herbert, as his contribution.

"The little Red Hen being now corn-fed, and the Mill a thing she never would reach, the Mouse and the Grouse thought best to put an end to her checkered career and boil her in a pot over a slow fire; because that's the way to make a fowl who had traveled and endured so much grow tender and soft-hearted and fit to eat, corn and all, popped or unpopped—Pass the pan, Alfaretta! while the pot boils and the Little Red Hen—Next!" continued Littlejohn Smith, with a readiness which was unexpected; while Molly B. took up the nonsense with the remark that:

"The Little Red Hen has as many lives as a cat. All our great-great-great-grandmothers have heard about her. She was living ages and—and eons ago! She was in the Ark with Noah—in my toy Ark, anyway; and being made of wood she didn't boil tender as had been hoped; also, all the lovely red she wore came off in the boil and—what's happening? 'Tother side the ring where Dolly Doodles is holding Luna with both hands and staring—staring—staring—Oh! My! What's happening to our own Little Red Hen!"

What, indeed!



CHAPTER XVI

THE FINDING OF THE MONEY

In this instance the Little Red Hen was Luna. As always when possible she had seated herself by Dorothy, who shared none of that repugnance which some of the others, especially Helena, felt toward the unfortunate. She had been cleanly if plainly clothed when she arrived at Deerhurst, but the changes which had been made in her attire pleased her by their bright colors and finer quality.

The waif always rebelled when Dinah or Norah sought to dress her in the gray gown she had originally worn or to put her hair into a snug knot. She clung to the cardinal-hued frock that Dorothy had given her and pulled out the pins with which her attendants tried to confine her white curls. In this respect she was like a spoiled child and she always carried her point—as spoiled children usually do.

Thus to-night: To the old nurse it had seemed wise that the witless one should go to her bed, instead of into that gay scene at the barn. Luna had decided otherwise. Commonly so drowsy and willing to sleep anywhere and anyhow, she was this night wide awake. Nothing could persuade her to stay indoors, nothing that is, short of actual force and, of course, such would never be tried. For there was infinite pity in the hearts of most at Deerhurst, and a general feeling that nothing they could do could possibly make up to her for the intelligence she had never possessed. Also, they were all sorry for her homelessness, as well as full of wonder concerning it. The indifferent manner in which she had been left uncalled for seemed to prove that she had been gotten rid of for a purpose. Those who had lost her evidently did not wish to find her again. Yet, there was still a mystery in the matter; and one which Mrs. Calvert, coming fresh upon it, was naturally resolved to discover. The poor thing was perfectly at home at Deerhurst now, and judging by her habitual smile, as happy as such an one could be. But though the mistress of the mansion felt that her household had done right in sheltering the wanderer and in allowing her to partake of all their festivities, she did not at all intend to give a permanent home to this stranger. She could not. Her own plans were for far different things; and since she had, at last, been so fortunate as to bestow the twins in their legitimate home, she meant to find the same for Luna.

So the guest who was both child and woman had carried her point and was one in the ring of story-tellers. She paid no heed to what was going on but amused herself with folding and unfolding her red skirt; or in smoothing the fanciful silk in which Dorothy appeared as a belle of long ago.

The pair were sitting on a pile of hay, leaning against a higher one, and Dorothy had been absorbed in listening to the composite story and wondering what she should add to it. Her head was bent toward Luna and she dreamily watched the movements of her neighbor's tiny wrinkled hands. Suddenly she became aware that there was a method in their action; that they were half-pulling out, half-thrusting back, something from the fastening of the scarlet blouse.

This something was green; it was paper; it was prized by its possessor, for each time Dorothy moved, Luna thrust her treasures back out of sight and smiled her meaningless smile into the face above her. But Dorothy ceased to move at all, and the dreaminess left her gaze, which had now become breathlessly alert and strained.

She watched her opportunity and when again Luna drew her plaything from her blouse, Dorothy snatched it from her and sprang to her feet, crying:

"The money is found! The money is found! My lost one hundred dollars!"

Strangely enough Luna neither protested nor noticed her loss. The drowsiness that often came upon her, like a flash, did so now and she sank back against her hay-support, sound asleep.

All crowded about Dorothy, excited, incredulous, delighted, sorely puzzled.

"Could Luna have stolen it, that foolish one?"

"But she wasn't in the house the night it was lost. Don't you remember? It was then that Dolly found her out by the pond. It couldn't have been she!"

"Do you suppose it blew out of the window and she picked it up?"

"It couldn't. The window wasn't opened. It stormed, you know."

Such were the questions and answering speculations that followed Dorothy's exclamation, as the lads and lassies found this real drama far more absorbing than the composite tale had been.

Mrs. Calvert and Mr. Seth alone said nothing, but they watched with tender anxiety to see Dorothy's next action. That it satisfied them was evident, from the smiles of approval gathering on their faces and the joyous nodding of the gray heads. Their girl hadn't disappointed them—she was their precious Dorothy still.

She had gone straight to where old Ephraim and his cronies now sat in a distant part of the barn, enjoying their share of the good things Alfy and Danny had provided, and kneeling down beside him had laid the roll of money on his knee. Then audibly enough for all to hear, she said:

"Dear Ephraim, forgive me, if you can. This is the money I lost, the ten crisp ten-dollar bills. Count them and see."

"No, no, li'l Missy! No, no. An' fo' de lan', doan you-all kneel to a pore ole niggah lak me! Fo' de lan', Missy, whe'-all's yo' pride an' mannehs?"

Her posture so distressed him that she rose and said, turning to her friends that all might hear:

"It was I, and I alone, who put that money out of sight. I remember now as clearly as if it were this minute. That red frock was the one I wore that night when Luna came. There is a rip in it, between the lining and the outside of the waist. It was an oversight of the maker's, I suppose, that left it so, but I never mended it, because it made such a handy pocket, and there was no other. I remember plain. When the crash came I gathered up the money and thrust it into that place. Instinct told me it was something to be cared for, I guess, because I'm sure I didn't stop to think. Then when I went to bed I must have been too excited to remember about it and left it there. The next day I gave that frock to Luna and she has worn it ever since. How long before she found the 'pocket' and what was in it, she can't tell us. We've heard the 'help' say how quickly she noticed when money was around and I suppose she's been afraid we'd take it from her; although she didn't resent it just now when I did. Oh! I am so ashamed of myself, so ashamed!"

Nobody spoke for a moment, till Ephraim rose and taking his fiddle solemnly played the Doxology. That wasn't speaking, either, in a sense; but it told plainer than words the gratitude of the simple old man that the shadow on his character was banished forever.

Seth Winters nodded his own gray head in understanding of the negro's sentiment, while Dorothy sped with the bills to lay them in her Aunt Betty's lap, and to hide her mortified countenance upon the lady's shoulder. Thence it was presently lifted, when Mrs. Calvert said:

"Now the lost is found, I'd like to inquire what shall be done with it? It'll never seem just like other money to me or to my forgetful darling here. Let's put it to vote. Here's my notebook, Dolly; tear out a few leaves and give a scrap of the paper to each. Pass the pencil along with them and let each write what she or he thinks the most beneficent use for this restored one hundred dollars."

So it was done; even those among the servants grouped inside the great doors, having their share of the evening's sport, even among these those who could write put down their wish.

Then Jim Barlow collected the ballots and sorted them; and Seth Winters's face shone with delight when it proved the majority had voted:

"For the old man at St. Michael's."

So at once they made him take the money in charge; and it made all glad to hear him say:

"That will keep the poor old chap in comfort for many a day," for he would not damp their joy by his own knowledge that Hiram Bowen's days could not be "many," though he meant that they should be the most comfortable of all that pain-tormented life.

"Well, our rainy day has proved a blessed one! Also, the storm is over and to-morrow should bring us fair weather for—the County Fair! All in favor of going say Aye!" cried the Master.

The rafters rang again and again, and they moved doorwards, regretful for the fun just past yet eager for that to come; while there was not a young heart there but inwardly resolved never again to harbor suspicion of evil in others, but to keep faith in the goodness of humanity.

Meanwhile, what had this rainy day seen at Heartsease Farm? Where the twins of evil names had been left to their new life, and their maternal grandfather had so coolly turned his back upon them, while they satisfied their material little souls with such cookies as they had never tasted before.

Dorcas let them alone till they had devoured more than she felt was good for them, and until Ananias turning from the table demanded:

"Gimme a drink."

"Gimme a drink!" echoed his mate; and the old lady thought it was wonderful to hear them speak so plainly, or even that they could speak at all. But she also felt that discipline should begin at once; and though not given to embellishment of language she realized that their "plain speech" was not exactly that of the Friends.

"Thee tell me thy name, first. Then thee shall drink."

"A-n an, a, ana, n-i ni, a-s as, Ananias."

"S-a-p sap, p-h-i phi, r-a ra," glibly repeated the girl, almost tripping over her brother in her eagerness to outdo him.

Dorcas Sands paled with horror. Such names as these! Forced upon the innocent babes of her Rose! It was incredible!

Then, in an instant, the meekness, the downtroddenness of the woman vanished. Her mission in life was not finished! Her sons had gone out from her home and her daughter was dead, but here were those who were dearer than all because they were "brands" to be saved from the burning.

"Hear me, Rose's Babies! Thee is Benjamin, and a truth-teller; and thee is Ruth. Let me never hear either say otherwise than as I said. Now come. There is the bench and there the basin. The first child that is clean shall have the first drink—but no quarreling. Birthright Friends are gentle and well mannered. Forget it not."

The sternness of mild people is usually impressive. The twins found it so. For the rest of that day, either because of the novelty of their surroundings or their difficulty in mastering—without blows—the spelling of their new names, they behaved with exceptionable demureness; and when, in some fear their grandmother dispatched Benjamin to Oliver's office to announce dinner, the miller fairly stared to hear the midget say:

"Thee is to come to dinner, Oliver. Dorcas says so. Thee is to make haste because there is lamb and it soon cools. Dorcas says the lamb had wool once and that thee has the wool. Give it to me; Oliver. B-e-n ben, j-a ja, m-i-n min, Benjamin. That's who I am now and I'm to have anything I want on this Heartsease Farm because I'm Rose's baby. The Dorcas woman says so. Oliver, did thee know Rose?"

This was the "plain speech" with a vengeance! The miller could scarcely credit his own ears and doubting them used his eyes to the greater advantage. What he saw was a bonny little face, from which looked out a pair of fearless eyes; and a crown of yellow hair that made a touch of sunlight in that dark room. "Did he know Rose?"

For the first time in many a day he remembered that he had known Rose; not as a rebellious daughter gone astray from the safe fold of Quakerdom, but as a dutiful innocent little one whom he had loved. Rising at last after a prolonged inspection of his grandson, an inspection returned in kind with the unwinking stare of childhood, he took the boy's hand and said:

"Very well, Benjamin, I will go with thee to dinner."

"But the wool? Can I have that? If I had that I could wrap it around Sap—I mean R-u ru, t-h thuh, Ruth, when it's cold at night and Him's off messagin'."

"Yes, yes. Thee can have anything if thee'll keep still while we ask blessing."

The face of Dorcas glowed with a holy light. Never had that silent grace been more earnestly felt than on that dark day when the coming of "Rose's babies" had wrought such a happy effect on her husband's sorrowful mood. True she also was sorrowful, though in less degree than he; but now she believed with all her heart that this one righteous thing he had done—this allowing of the orphans to come home—would in some way heal that sorrow, or end it in happiness for all.

All afternoon she busied herself in making ready for the permanent comfort of her new-found "blessings." She hunted up in the attic the long disused trundle-bed of her children; foraged in long-locked cupboards for the tiny sheets and quilts; dragged out of hiding a small chest of drawers and bestowed the twins' belongings therein, bemoaning meanwhile the worldliness that had selected such fanciful garments as a trio of young girls had done. However, there was plenty of good material somewhere about the house. A cast-off coat of Oliver's would make more than one suit for Benjamin; while for little Ruth, already the darling of her grandmother's soul, there were ample pieces of her own gowns to clothe her modestly and well.

"To-morrow will be the Fifth day, and of course, though he seems so indifferent we shall all go to meeting. And when the neighbors ask: 'Whose children has thee found?' I shall just say 'Rosie's babies.' Then let them gaze and gossip as they will. I, Dorcas, will not heed. There will be peace at Heartsease now Rosie has come home—in the dear forms of her children."

Thus thought the tender Friend, sitting and sewing diligently upon such little garments as her fingers had not touched for so long a time; but the "peace" upon which she counted seemed at that moment a doubtful thing.

The day had worn itself out, and the miller had tired of indoors and his own thoughts. From the distant living-room he had been conscious of a strange sound—the prattle of childish voices and the gentle responses of his wife. His heart had been softened, all unknown to himself even, by a sorrow so recent it absorbed all his thought and kept him wakeful with anxiety; yet it was rather pleasant to reflect, in that gloomy afternoon, that he had given poor Dorcas her wish. Those twins would be a great trouble and little satisfaction. They were as much Bowen as Sands; still Dorcas had been good and patient, and he was glad he had let her have her wish.

Ah! hum! The clouds were lifting. He wondered where those children were. He began to wonder with more interest than he had felt during all that endless week, what his workmen were doing. Maybe he would feel better, more like himself, if he went out to the barn and looked about. By this time the cows should be in the night-pasture, waiting to be milked, those which were not now in the stalls of the County Fair.

That Fair! He would have hated it had he not been a Friend and known the sinfulness of hatred. But there were cattle lowing—it sounded as if something were wrong. Habit resumed its sway, and with anxiety over his cherished stock now re-awakened, he passed swiftly out.

"Oliver, thee has forgotten thy goloshes!" called his thoughtful spouse, but he paid her no heed, though commonly most careful to guard against his rheumatism.

"Who left that gate open? Who drove that cow—her calf—Child! is thee possessed?"

Mrs. Betty Calvert was a true prophet—the twins had certainly waked their grandsire up a bit! The explanation was simple, the disaster great. They had tired of the quiet living-room and had also stolen out of doors. Animals never frightened them and they were immediately captivated by the goodly herd of cattle in the pasture. To open the gate was easy; easy, too, to let free from its small shed a crying calf. Between one cow and the calf there seemed a close interest.

"We oughtn't ha' did that! That big cow'll eat that little cow up. See Sapphi—Ruth, see them stairs? Let's drive the little cow up the stair past the big wagons and keep it all safe and nice," suggested Benjamin.

So they did; much to the surprise of the calf who bounded up the stairs readily enough, kicking its heels and cavorting in a most entrancing fashion; but when they tried to bar the big cow from following, she rushed past them and also ascended the stairs in a swift, lumbering manner. The relationship between the big and little cow now dawned even upon their limited intelligence, though there still remained the fear that the one would devour the other.

Then the twins turned and gazed upon one another, anxiety upon their faces; till spying the master of the premises most rapidly approaching they rushed to meet him, exclaiming:

"The little cow's all safe but how will we get the big cow down?"

How, indeed! Oliver Sands was too angry to speak. For well he knew that it would require the efforts of all his force of helpers to drive that valuable Jersey down the stairs she had not hesitated to go up when driven by maternal love.

With one majestic wave of his hand the miller dismissed his grandchildren to the house and Dorcas; but so long and so hard he labored to lure that imprisoned quadruped from his carriage-loft, that, weary, he went early to bed and slept as he had not for nights. So, in that it seemed his "waking up" had proved a blessing.



CHAPTER XVII

THE STORY OF THE WORM THAT TURNED

The morning proved fair and cool, ideal weather for their visit to the County Fair; but Mrs. Calvert decided that a whole day there would be both inconvenient and too fatiguing. Now that she was at home the management of the House Party had been turned over to her by tacit consent, and she had laughingly accepted the trust.