incredulity, one could hear a faint echo of the giggles of forty-eight years before. Mary North heard it, and her heart burned within her.

“It’s got to stop,” she said to herself, passionately; “I must speak to his son.”

But her throat was dry at the thought. It seemed as if it would kill her to speak to a man on such a subject, even to as little of a man as Cyrus. But, poor, shy tigress! to save her mother, what would she not do? In her pain and fright she said to Mrs. North that if that old man kept on making her uncomfortable and conspicuous, they would leave Old Chester!

Mrs. North twinkled with amusement when Mary, in her strained and quivering voice, began, but her jaw dropped at those last words; Mary was capable of carrying her off at a day’s notice! The little old lady trembled with distressed reassurances—but Captain Price continued to call.

And that was how it came about that this devoted daughter, after days of exasperation and nights of anxiety, reached a point of tense determination. She would go and see the man’s son, and say ... That afternoon, as she stood before the swinging glass on her high bureau, tying her bonnet-strings, she tried to think what she would say. She hoped God would give her words—polite words; “for I must be polite,” she reminded herself desperately. When she started across the street her paisley shawl had slipped from one shoulder, so that the point dragged on the flagstones; she had split her right glove up the back, and her bonnet was jolted over sidewise; but the thick Chantilly veil hid the quiver of her chin.

Gussie met her with effusion, and Mary, striving to be polite, smiled painfully, and said:

“I don’t want to see you; I want to see your husband.”

Gussie tossed her head; but she made haste to call Cyrus, who came shambling along the hall from the cabin. The parlor was dark, for though it was a day of sunshine and merry May wind, Gussie kept the shutters bowed—but Cyrus could see the pale intensity of his visitor’s face. There was a moment’s silence, broken by a distant harmonicon.

“Mr. Price,” said Mary North, with pale, courageous lips, “you must stop your father.”

Cyrus opened his weak mouth to ask an explanation, but Gussie rushed in.

“You are quite right, ma’am. Cyrus worries so about it (of course we know what you refer to). And Cyrus says it ought to be checked immediately, to save the old gentleman!”

“You must stop him,” said Mary North, “for my mother’s sake.”

“Well—” Cyrus began.

“Have you cautioned your mother?” Gussie demanded.

“Yes,” Miss North said, briefly. To talk to this woman of her mother made her wince, but it had to be done. “Will you speak to your father, Mr. Price?”

“Well, I—”

“Of course he will!” Gussie broke in; “Cyrus, he is in the cabin now.”

“Well, to-morrow I—” Cyrus got up and sidled towards the door. “Anyhow, I don’t believe he’s thinking of such a thing.”

“Miss North,” said Gussie, rising, “I will do it.”

“What, now?” faltered Mary North.

“Now,” said Mrs. Cyrus, firmly.

“Oh,” said Miss North, “I—I think I will go home. Gentlemen, when they are crossed, speak so—so earnestly.”

Gussie nodded. The joy of action and of combat entered suddenly into her little soul; she never looked less vulgar than at that moment. Cyrus had disappeared.

Mary North, white and trembling, hurried out. A wheezing strain from the harmonicon followed her into the May sunshine, then ended, abruptly—Mrs. Price had begun! On her own door-step Miss North stopped and listened, holding her breath for an outburst.... It came: a roar of laughter. Then silence. Mary North stood, motionless, in her own parlor; her shawl, hanging from one elbow, trailed behind her; her other glove had split; her bonnet was blown back and over one ear; her heart was pounding in her throat. She was perfectly aware that she had done an unheard-of thing. “But,” she said, aloud, “I’d do it again. I’d do anything to protect her. But I hope I was polite?” Then she thought how courageous Mrs. Cyrus was. “She’s as brave as a lion!” said Mary North. Yet, had Miss North been able to stand at the Captain’s door, she would have witnessed cowardice....

“Gussie, I wouldn’t cry. Confound that female, coming over and stirring you up! Now don’t, Gussie! Why, I never thought of—Gussie, I wouldn’t cry—”

“I have worried almost to death. Pro-promise!”

“Oh, your granny was Mur— Gussie, my dear, now don’t.”

“Dr. Lavendar said you’d always been so sensible; he said he didn’t see how you could think of such a dreadful thing.”

“What! Lavendar? I’ll thank Lavendar to mind his business!” Captain Price forgot Gussie; he spoke “earnestly.” “Dog-gone these people that pry into— Oh, now, Gussie, don’t!”

“I’ve worried so awfully,” said Mrs. Cyrus. “Everybody is talking about you. And Dr. Lavendar is so—so angry about it; and now the daughter has charged on me as though it is my fault! Of course, she is queer, but—”

“Queer? she’s queer as Dick’s hatband! Why do you listen to her? Gussie, such an idea never entered my head—or Mrs. North’s either.”

“Oh yes, it has! Her daughter said that she had had to speak to her—”

Captain Price, dumfounded, forgot his fear and burst out: “You’re a pack of fools, the whole caboodle! I swear I—”

“Oh, don’t blaspheme!” said Gussie, faintly, and staggered a little, so that all the Captain’s terror returned. If she fainted!

“Hi, there, Cyrus! Come aft, will you? Gussie’s getting white around the gills—Cyrus!”

Cyrus came, running, and between them they got the swooning Gussie to her room; Afterwards, when Cyrus tiptoed down-stairs, he found the Captain at the cabin door. The old man beckoned mysteriously.

“Cy, my boy, come in here”—he hunted about in his pocket for the key of the cupboard—“Cyrus, I’ll tell you what happened; that female across the street came in, and told poor Gussie some cock-and-bull story about her mother and me!” The Captain chuckled, and picked up his harmonicon. “It scared the life out of Gussie,” he said; then, with sudden angry gravity,—“these people that poke their noses into other’s people’s business ought to be thrashed. Well, I’m going over to see Mrs. North.” And off he stumped, leaving Cyrus staring after him, open-mouthed.

If Mary North had been at home, she would have met him with all the agonized courage of shyness and a good conscience. But she had fled out of the house, and down along the River Road, to be alone and regain her self-control.

The Captain, however, was not seeking Miss North. He opened the front door, and advancing to the foot of the stairs, called up: “Ahoy, there! Mrs. North!”

Mrs. North came trotting out to answer the summons. “Why, Alfred!” she exclaimed, looking over the banisters, “when did you come in? I didn’t hear the bell ring. I’ll come right down.”

“It didn’t ring; I walked in,” said the Captain. And Mrs. North came down-stairs, perhaps a little stiffly, but as pretty an old lady as you ever saw. Her white curls lay against faintly pink cheeks, and