CHAPTER XIII It was beautiful to wake the next morning with the birds singing a matten in the trees, and a wonderful Sabbath quiet over everything, tired out as she was, and worn with excitement and care. Shirley was the first to awaken, and she lay there quiet beside Carol for a little while with her eyes closed, listening and saying a prayer of thanksgiving for the peace of the place and the wonder that it had come into her life. Then suddenly a strange luminousness about her simply forced her to open her eyes. The eastern window was across the room from her bed, and the sky was rosy with the dawn and flooding the room. It was the first time in years she had watched the sun rise. She had almost forgotten in the little dark city house that there was a sun to rise and make things glorious. The sun had seemed an enemy to burn and wilt and stifle, but now here was a friend, a radiant new friend to be waited for and enjoyed, to give glory to all their lives. She raised herself on one elbow and watched until the red ball had risen and burst into the brightness of day. Then she lay down softly again and listened to the birds. They seemed to be mad with joy over the new day. Presently the chorus grew less and less. The birds had gone about their morning tasks, and only a single bright song now and then from some soloist in the big tree overhead mocked at the sweet scented silence of the morning. In the quiet Shirley lay and went over events since she had first seen this spot and taken the idea of living in the barn. Her heart gave thanks anew that her mother had not disliked it as she had feared. There was no sense that it was a stable, no odor of living creatures having occupied it before, only sweet dusty clover, like a lingering of past things put away carefully. It was like a great camping expedition, and then all those flowers, the scent of the lilies was on the air, how lovely of the young girl out of her luxury to think to pass on some of the sweet things of life, and the gracious, chivalrous man, her brother. She must not let him think she would presume upon his kindness. She must not let even her thoughts cross the line and dwell on the ground of social equality. She knew where he belonged, and there he should stay for all her. She was heartfree and happy and only too glad to have such a kind landlord. She drifted off to sleep again, and it was late when she awoke the next time. A silvery bell from the little white church in the valley was ringing and echoing distantly. Sabbath, real Sabbath, seemed brooding happily in the very air. Shirley got up and dressed hastily. She felt as if she had already lost too much of this first wonderful day in the country. A thrush was spilling his liquid notes in the tree overhead, when she tiptoed softly into her mother's room. Doris opened her eyes and looked in wonder. Then whispered softly, What is that, Shirley? What is that pretty sound? A birdie in the tree-dairy, whispered, Shirley. A real birdie? I want to see it. Take Doris up, Shirley. So Shirley lifted the little maiden, wrapped a shawl about her, and carried her softly to the window, where she looked up in wonder and joy. The boys came tumbling down from their loft in a few minutes, and there was no more sleep to be had. Carol was up and out, and the voice of one or the other of them was continually raised in a shout of triumph over some new delight. I saw a fish in the brook, shouted Harley under his mother's window.  You silly! cried George. It was a minnow. Minnows don't grow to be big. They were only good for bait. Hush, George! There's a nest in the big tree. I've been watching and the mother bird is sitting on it. That was the father bird singing a while ago, this from Carol. George, Harley, and Carol declared their intention of going to church. That had likely been the first bell that rang their mother told them, and they would have plenty of time to get there if they hurried. It was only half past nine. Country churches rang a bell then, and another at ten, and the final bell at half past ten, probably. Possibly they had Sunday school at ten. Anyhow, they could go and find out. It wouldn't matter if they were a little late the first time. So they ate some breakfast in a hurry, took each a sandwich left from the night before, crossed the road, climbed the fence, and went joyously over the green fields to church, thinking how much nicer it was than walking down a brick paved street past the same old grimy houses to a dim, artificially lighted church. Shirley took a survey of the larder, decided that roast chicken, potato croquettes, and peas were all warm up quickly, and as there was plenty of ice cream left and some cakes, they would fare royally without any work. So she sat beside her mother and told the whole story of her ride, the finding of the barn, her visit to the Graham office, and all that transpired until the present time. The mother listened, watching her child, but said no word of her inner thoughts. If it occurred to her that her oldest daughter was fair to look upon, and that her winning ways, sweet unspoiled face, and wistful eyes had somewhat to do with the price of their summers abode, it would be no wonder. But she did not mean to trouble her child further. She would investigate for herself when opportunity offered. So she quieted all anxiety Shirley might have had about her sanction of the selection of a home, kissed Shirley, and told her she felt it in her bones she was going to get well right away. And indeed there was much in the fact of the lifting of the burden of anxiety concerning where they should live that went to brighten the eyes of the invalid and strengthen her heart. When the children came home from church Shirley was putting dinner on the table, and her mother was arrayed in a pretty kimono, a relic of their bedded days, and ready to be helped to the couch and wheeled out to the dining-room. It had been pleasant to see the children coming across the green meadow in the distance, and get things all ready for them when they rushed in hungry. Shirley was so happy she felt like crying. After the dinner things were washed, they shoved the couch into the living-room among the flowers where George had built up a beautiful fire, for it was still chilly. The children gathered around their mother and talked, making plans for the summer, telling about the service they had attended, chattering like so many magpies. The mother lay and watched them and was content. Sometimes her eyes would search the dim, mellow rafters overhead, and glance along the stone walls, and she would say to herself, This is a barn! I am living in a barn! My husband's children have come to this, that they have no place to live but a barn. She was testing herself to see if the thought hurt her, but looking on their happy faces, somehow she could not feel sad. Children, she said suddenly in one of the little lulls of conversation, do you realize that Christ was born in a stable? It isn't so bad to live in a barn. We ought to be very thankful for this great splendid one.  Doris, you sing your little song about Jesus in this stable. Said Carol, I'll play it for you. Doris, nothing loath, got a little stool, stood up beside her mother's couch, folded her small hands demurely, and began to sing without waiting for accompaniment. Away in a manger, no trip for his head, the little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head. The towers in the heaven, look down where he lay. The little Lord Jesus, asleep in the hay. The cattle are lowing. The poor baby waits, but the little Lord Jesus, no crying he mates. I love thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky, and stay by my crib, watching my lullaby. Shirley kissed Doris, and then they began to sing other things, all standing around the piano. By and by that distant bell from the valley called again. There's a Vespa service at five o'clock. Why don't you go, Shirley? You and George and Harley, said Carol. Me ought to do too, declared Doris earnestly, and it was finally decided that the walk would not be too long, so the boys, Shirley and the baby, started off across the fields, while Carol stayed with her mother. And this time Mrs. Hollister heard all about Elizabeth, and how she wanted Carol to come and see her some time. Heard too about the proposed dance, and it's quite squelching by the brother. Heard and looked thoughtful, and wondered more. Mother is afraid they are not quite our kind of people, dear, she said gently. You mustn't get your heart bound up in that girl. She may be very nice, but she's a society girl, and you are not, you know. It stands to reason she will have other interests pretty soon, and then you will be disappointed when she forgets all about you. She won't forget, mother. I know she won't, declared Carol stoutly. She's not that kind. She loves me. She told me so. She wanted to put one of her rings on my finger to bind our friendship, only I wouldn't let her till I had asked you, because I didn't have any but grandmothers to give her, and I couldn't give her that. That was right, dear. You can't begin things like that. You would find a great many of them, and we haven't the money to keep up with the little girl who has been used to everything. Carol's face went down.  Can't we have even friends?  Yes, dear, said the mother sorrowfully, but don't choose them from among another people, people who can't possibly have much in common with us. It is sure to hurt hard when there are differences in station like that. But I didn't choose them. They chose us, declared Carol. Elizabeth just went wild over us the first time she saw us, and her brother told Shirley he was glad that it would do Elizabeth a lot of good to know us. He said, We've learned a lot of things from you already. Just like that, he said it. I was coming down the stairs behind them when they stood here talking one day, and I couldn't help hearing them. Yes, said Mrs. Hollister thoughtfully. Well, perhaps, but dear, go slow, and don't pin your heart to a friendship like that, for it will most likely be disappointing. Just be happy in what she has done for us already, and don't expect anything more. She may never come again. It may just have been a passing whim, and I don't want you to be always looking for her, and always disappointed. I shall not be disappointed, Mama, said Carol decidedly. You'll see. And her face brightened.  Carol! Carol! Are you there? And she flung the door open and rushed into her new friend's arms. Graham came more slowly at the incline, smiling apologetically and hoping he didn't intrude coming so soon. Carol led them over to the invalid, and introduced her friend, and the young man came after them. I'm afraid this is rather soon to obey your summons, Mrs. Hollister, he said engagingly, but Elizabeth couldn't stand it without coming over to see if you really found the ice-cream freezer, so I thought we'd just drop in for a minute and see whether you were quite comfortable. Somehow suddenly Mrs. Hollister's fears and conclusions concerning these two young people began to vanish, and in spite of her she felt just as surely had done that they were genuine in their kindliness and friendship. Carol, watching her, was satisfied, and a glow of triumph shown in her eyes. Nevertheless, Mrs. Hollister gathered her caution about her as a garment, and indignified in pleasant phrases thanked the two in such a way that they must see that neither she nor her children would ever presume upon what had been done for them, nor take it for more than a passing kindliness. But to her surprise the young man did not seem to be more than half listening to her words. He seemed to be studying her face with deep intention, that was almost embarrassing. The soft color stole into her thin cheeks, and she stopped speaking and looked at him in dismay. I beg your pardon, he said, seeing her bewilderment, but you can't understand, perhaps, how interested I am in you. I am afraid I have been guilty of staring. You see, it is simply amazing to me to find a woman of your refinement in evident culture and education who is content, I might even say joyful, to live in a barn. I don't know another woman who would be satisfied. And you seem to have brought up all your children with just such happy, adaptable natures, that it is a great puzzle to me. I feel sort of rebuke. I feel that you and your children are among the great of the earth. Don't thank Elizabeth and me for the little we have been able to do toward making this barn habitable. It was sort of, I might say, homage due to you that we were rendering. And now, please, don't think anything more about it. Let's just talk as if we were friends. That is, if you are willing to accept a couple of humble strangers among your list of friends. Why, surely, if you put it that way, smiled the little woman. Although I am sure I don't know what else we could do, but be glad and happy over it that we had a barn like this to come to, under a sweet blue sky, with a bird and a tree thrown in, when we literally didn't know where we could afford to lay our heads. You know beggars shouldn't be choosers. But I'm sure one would choose a spacious place like this any day in preference to most of the ordinary city-houses, with their tiny dark rooms and small breathless windows. Even if it was called a barn? Even if it was called a barn, said the woman with a flitting dance in her eyes, that reminded him of the girl Shirley. Well, I'm learning a lot, I'll tell you, said the young man. The more I see of you all, the more I learn. It's opened my eyes to a number of things in my life that I'm going to set right. By the way, is Miss Hollister here? I brought over a book I was telling her about the other day. I thought she might like to see it. She went over to the Vesper service at the little church across the fields. They'll be coming home soon, I think. It must be nearly over. He looked at his watch. Suppose I take the car and bring them back. You stay here, Elizabeth. I'll soon be back. I think I can catch them around by the road if I put on speed. He was off, and the mother lay on the couch, watching the two girls and wishing with all her heart that it were so that her children might have these two fine young people for friends. But, of course, such things could not very well be in this world of stern realities and multitudinous conventionalities. What, for instance, would be said in the social set to which the Grahams belonged if it were known that some of the intimate friends lived in a barn? No. Such things did not happen, even in books. And the mother lay still inside. She heard the chatter of the two girls. You're coming home with me to stay over Sunday pretty soon.  We'll sleep together and have the grandest times. Mother likes me to have friends stay with me, but most of the girls I know are off at boarding school now, and I'm dreadfully lonesome. We have tennis courts and golf links and a bowling alley. Do you play tennis? And we can go out in the car whenever we like. It's going to be grand. I'll show you my dog and my pony I used to ride. He's getting old now, and I'm too big for him, but I love him just the same. I have a saddle-horse, but I don't ride much. I'd rather go motoring with sin. And so she rattled on and the mother's side for her little girl who was being tempted by a new and beautiful world, and had not the wherewithal to enter it, even if it were possible for her to do so. Out in the sunset the car was speeding back again with the seats full, Doris chirping gleefully at the ride, for her fat legs had grown very weary with the long walk through the meadow, and Shirley had been almost sorry she had taken her along. The boys were shouting all sorts of questions about dogs and chickens and cars and a garden, and Graham was answering them all good-humoredly, now and then turning around to throw back a pleasant sentence and a smile at the quiet girl with the happy eyes, sitting in the backseat with her arm around her little sister. There was nothing notable about the ride to remember. It was just one of those beautiful bits of pleasantness that fit into the mosaic of any growing friendship. A bit of color without which the whole is not perfect. Shirley's part in it was small. She said little and sat listening happily to the boys' conversation with Graham. She had settled it with her heart that morning that she and the young man on that front seat had nothing in future to do with each other, but it was pleasant to see him sitting there talking with her brothers. There was no reason why she should not be glad for that, and glad he was not a snob. For every time she looked on his clean, frank face and saw his nice gray eyes upon her, she was sure that he was not a snob. The guests stayed a little while after they all got back, and accepted quite as a matter of course the dainty little lunch that Carol and Elizabeth, slipping away unobserved, prepared and brought in on trays. Some of the cell had left from dinner. Some round rolls that Shirley had brought out with her Saturday, cut in two and crisply toasted, cups of delicious cocoa, and little cakes. That was all, but it tasted fine, and the two self-invited guests enjoyed it hugely. Then they all ranged themselves around the piano and sang hymns, and it is safe to say that the guests at least had not spent a sabbathy a sabbath in all of their lives. Elizabeth was quite astonished when she suggested that they sing a popular song to have Carol answer in a polite, but gently reproving tone. Oh, not today, you know. Why not?  Why, we don't any of us usually sing things like that on Sunday, you know. It doesn't seem like Sunday. It doesn't seem quite respectful to God. Carol was terribly embarrassed and was struggling to make her idea plain. Oh! Elizabeth said and stood looking wistfully, wonderingly at her friend, and finally stole out her soft hand and slipped it into Carol's, pressing her fingers as if to make her know she understood. Then they lifted up their voices again over the same hymn-book. Thine earthly sabbaths, Lord we love, but there's a nobler rest above. To that our longing souls aspire, with cheerful hope and strong desire. Graham looked about on the group as they sang, his own fine tenor joining in the words, his eyes lingering on the earnest face of his little sister, as she stood arm in arm with the other girl, and was suddenly thrilled with the thought of what a sabbath might be kept in this way. It had never appealed to him quite like that before. Sabbath keeping had seemed a dry, thankless task for a few fanatics. Now a new possibility loomed vaguely in his mind. He could see that people like this could really make the sabbath something to love, not just a day to lull through and pass the time away. When they finally went away there was just a streak of dull red left in the western horizon where the day had disappeared, and all the air was seething with sweet night sounds and odours, the dampness of the swamps striking coolly in their faces as the car sped along. Sidney, said Elizabeth after a long time, did you ever feel as if God were real? Why, how do you mean, kid? asked the brother, rather embarrassed. These subjects were not discussed at all in the Graham household. Did you ever feel as if there really was a God somewhere, like a person, that could see and hear you and know what you did and how you felt to him? Because they do. Carol said they didn't sing, tipperary, on Sunday because it didn't seem quite respectful to God, and I could see she really meant it. It wasn't just because her mother said she had to or anything like that. She thought so herself. Hmm! said Graham thoughtfully. Well, they're rather remarkable people, I think. Well, I think so too, and I think it's about time you fixed it up with Mama to let Carol come and visit me. I'm going to get Mother to go out there and call this week if I can, said Graham after another, longer pause, and then added. I think she will go, and I think she will like them. After that we'll see, kid. Don't you worry. They're nice all right. He was thinking of the look on Shirley's face as she sat at the piano playing for them all to sing. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 The first few days in the new home were filled with wonder and delight for them all. They just could not get used to having plenty of room indoors with all outdoors for a playground. Doris's cheeks took on a lovely pink, and her eyes began to sparkle. She and Harley spent all day out of doors. They were making a garden. Not that they had any experience or any utensils. There was an old hoe and a broken spade down in the basement of the barn, and with these Harley managed to remove a few square feet of young turf and mellow up an inch or two of soil depth. In this they planted violet roots and butter-cups and daisies which they found in the meadows. Doris had a corner all her own, with neat rows of tiny stones from the brook laid in elaborate baby patterns around the edge, and in this she stuck twigs in weeds of all descriptions, and was never daunted, only pained and surprised when they drooped and died in a day or two, and had to be supplanted by others. It had been decided that Harley was to stop school and stay at home with Mother and Doris, which indeed he was quite willing to do under the glamour of the new life. The school itself never had much attraction for him, and the fellows were almost forgotten in searching for angled worms and building dams in the creek. Carol went to high school every morning with Shirley and George on the trolley. They were only six more weeks till the term was over, and it was better for Carol to finish out her year and get her credits. Shirley thought they could afford the extra car fare for just that little while, and so all day long Mother and Doris and Harley kept quiet home in the old barn, and the meadows rang with Doris' shouts and Harley's answers. One day the doctor came out in his machine to see Mrs. Hollister, as he had promised to do, and found her so much better that he told her she might get up and go around a little while every day if she was careful not to get overtired. He prophesied a speedy return to health if she kept on looking happy and breathing this good air. He praised the good sense that brought her out into the country to live in preference to any little tucked up house in town, and said if she could only get well enough to work outdoors in the ground and have a flower bed, it would be the making of her. Her eyes brightened at that, for she loved flowers, and in the days of her youth had been extremely successful in making things grow. The doctor was deeply interested in the barn. He walked about with his hands in his pockets, looking the rooms over, as delighted as a child at seeing a new mechanical toy. Well now, this is great, he said heartily. This is simply great. I admire you people for having the nerve to go against conventionality and come out here. If I had a few more patients who could be persuaded to go out into the country and take some of the unused old barns and fix them up to live in, I'd have to change my occupation. It's a great idea, and I mean to recommend it to others if you don't mind. Only I doubt if I find two others who have the nerve to follow your example. The invalid laughed. Why, doctor, I can't see the nerve. We really hadn't any choice. We couldn't find a decent place that we could afford, and this was big and healthful and cost less than the worst little tenement that would have done in town. Anyone would be a fool not to have come here. Mrs. Hollister, do you know that most people would rather starve and swelter, yes, and die in a conventional house than to do such an unheard of thing as to live in a barn, no matter how delightful that barn might be.  They have the right spirit. After his visit Mrs. Hollister began to get up a little while every day, and her improvement in health was rapid. She even ventured out to see Doris's garden and watched the birdie in his nest in the tree. One day a draemon stopped at the place and left several great rolls of chicken wire and a couple of big crates. One crate was bigger than the other and contained half a dozen big yellow hens and a beautiful rooster. The small crate held two lovely white rabbits. The children hovered joyfully over the crates. Mine wabbits! declared Doris solemnly. Nice Mr. Dwayam give Doris wabbits! Did Mr. Graham say he was going to send you some rabbits? questioned her mother? Yes. He did say he was going to send me some wabbits. On the way from church in big automobile he did say he would give me wabbits. Oh, mine wabbits! Doris was in ecstasy. Mrs. Hollister looked at the big rolls of wire questioningly. George and I told him we wanted some chickens. I guess that's why he sent them. Announced Harley excitedly. I hope you boys didn't hint. That's very bad manners.  It won't do, dear. No, mother. We didn't hint. George just asked him if he minded if we kept chickens here, and he said, no, indeed. He'd like to go into the business himself. He said he used to have a lot of his own when he was a boy, and he guessed there was a lot of wire from the old chicken-run around at his place yet. If there was, there wasn't any reason why it shouldn't be in use, and he'd look it up. He said if it was, he and we'd go into business. He'd furnish the tools, and we could do the work, and maybe someday we could sell eggs and make it pay. That's very kind of him, I'm sure, but Harley, that looks like new wire. It isn't the least bit rusted. It's galvanized, mother. Galvanized wire doesn't rust. Don't you know that? said Harley in a superior man's voice. Harley and Doris were wild over their pets, and could do nothing at all that day, but hover about them. And the minute George arrived, the boys went out to see about putting up some of the wire and making a temporary abode for the creatures, until they could get time to plan an elaborate chicken-run. Before dark, Graham arrived. He had brought a book on chicken-raising, and had a good many suggestions to offer.  He bounded floppyly out after Graham, and came affably up to the door, as if he understood everything. And at the sight of him, the children went wild. I brought this fellow along, thinking perhaps you'd like him to help look after things here. He's only a puppy, but he's a good breed, and I think you'll find him a splendid watch-dog. You don't need to keep him, of course, if you don't want him, Mrs. Hollister. But I thought, out in the country this way, it might be as well for you to have him on guard at night, especially. He'll be good company for the children. We've got so many of them that we want to give this one away. And what was there to do but accept him with thanks, a dog like that begging for a home, and a home like that really needing a dog? So the dog was promptly accepted as a member of the family, was named star, and accepted the overtures of his devoted worshippers in many amiable waggings of tail, and a wide puppy laugh on his face. He stayed behind most contentedly when Graham departed after a long conference with George and Harley over the chicken book, and a long discussion in the backyard as to the best place for the chicken run. He seemed to know from the start that he had come to stay, that this was his job, and he was on it for life. It must be admitted that Mrs. Hollister went to sleep that night, with more content knowing that big floppy deep voice dog was lying across the door out in the living room. The hillside had seemed a bit lonely at night, though she had never admitted it even to herself before, and she was glad the dog had come. That night in the little prayer that she said every night with all her children gathered about her couch in front of the fire, she added, We thank thee, O Lord, for sending us such good kind friends to make the world so much happier for us. A few days later Mrs. Graham came to call. Her son did not explain to her anything about the Hollisters, nor say a word about the place where they were living. He merely remarked casually, Mother, there are some people I'd like you to call on if you don't mind. They'd live out Glenside Way, and I'll take you any afternoon you have time. I really haven't much time now before we go to the shore, Sidney, she said. Couldn't they wait till the fall when we return? No, Mother, I'd like you to call now. It needn't take you long, and I think you'll like them. Her, Mrs. Hollister, I mean.  I'll call for you with the car any way you say, along about half past four or five o'clock.  Shall I have to be much dressed? asked the mother thoughtfully. Because I shouldn't have time for an elaborate toilet. I have to go to Madam's for a fitting, meet with the Red Cross Committee, drop in at the hospital for a few minutes, and see Mrs. Shepard and Mrs. Follett about our alumni anniversary banquet. Just wear something simple, Mother. They are not society people. It's you I want to show them, not your clothes.  Well, I'll be ready at half past four. You may call for me then at the Century Building. Elizabeth had been loyal to her brother's commands, and had said nothing about her newfound friend, awaiting his permission. Graham earnestly discussed the pros and cons of women's suffrage with his mother during the drive-out, so that she was utterly unprejudiced by any former ideas concerning the Hollisters, which was exactly what her son desired her to be. He knew that his mother was a woman of the world, and hedged about by conventions of all sorts, but he also knew her to be fair in her judgments when once she saw a thing right and a keen reader of character. He wanted her to see the Hollisters without the least bit of a chance to judge them beforehand. So when the car drew up in front of the old barn, Mrs. Graham was quite unprepared to have her son get out and open the car door and say, Mother, this is the place. May I help you out? She had been talking earnestly, and had thought he was getting out to look after something wrong about the car. Now she looked up startled. Why, Sidney, why, you must have made a mistake. This isn't a house. It's a barn. This is the place, Mother. Just come right up this way. Mrs. Graham picked her way over the short green turf up to the door and stood astonished while her son knocked. What in the world did he mean? Was this one of his jokes? Had he brought her out to see a new riding-horse? That must be it, of course. He was always taking a fancy to a horse or a dog. She really hadn't the time to spare for nonsense this afternoon. But one must humor one's son once in a while. She stepped back absentmindedly, her eyes resting on the soft greens and purples of the foliage across the meadows, her thoughts on the next paper she intended to write for the club. This incident would soon be over, and then she might pursue the even tenor of her busy way. Then the door slid back and she became aware of something unusual in the tenseness of the moment. Looking up quickly, she saw a beautiful girl of about Elizabeth's age, with a wealth of dark wavy hair, lovely dark eyes, and vivid coloring, and by her side one of the loveliest golden-haired blue-eyed babies she had ever seen in her life. In the wonder of the moment she forgot that the outside of the building had been a barn, for the curtain had risen on a new setting, and here on the very threshold the open before her amazed eyes a charming home-like room. At first she did not take in any of the details of furnishings, everything was tastefully arranged, and the dull tones of wall and floor and ceiling in the late afternoon light mellowed the old furniture into its background so perfectly that the imperfections and make-shifts did not appear. It was just a place of comfort and beauty, even though the details might show shabby poverty. But her son was speaking. Mother, this is Miss Carol Hollister, and this little girl is her sister Doris.  How do?  It was evident to the mother that her son had been here before. She looked at him for an explanation, but he only said to Carol, Is your mother able to see collars for a few minutes?  Mother is up in a chair this afternoon. See? The doctor says she may get up now. She is so much better. And she turned and flung out her arm toward the big, easy chair where her mother sat. Mrs. Hollister arose and came forward to meet them. She was dressed in a plain little gown of cheap gray shally, much washed and mended, but looking somehow very nice. And Carol had just finished fastening one of Shirley's sheer white fluffy collars around her neck, with a bit of a pink ribbon looped in a pretty knot. Her hair was tastefully arranged, and she looked every inch of lady as she stood to receive her unexpected guests. Graham had never seen her in any but invalid scar before, and he stood amazed for a moment at the likeness between her and Shirley. He introduced his mother with a few words, and then yielded to Doris's eager pulling hand, and went out to see the bunnies. The situation was a trifle trying for both ladies, but to the woman of the world perhaps the more embarrassing. She hadn't a clue as to who this was she had been brought to see. She was entirely used to dominating any situation, but for a moment she was almost confused. Mrs. Hollister, however, tactfully relieved the situation with a gentle, won't you sit here by the fire? It is getting a little cool this evening, don't you think? And put her at once at ease. Only her family would have guessed, from the soft pink spots in her cheeks, that she was at all excited over her grand guest. She took the initiative at once, leading the talk into natural channels about the spring and its wonderful unfolding in the country. Exhibited a vase with Jack in the pulpits, and a glass bowl of Hepaticus blushing blue and pink, told of the thrush that had built a nest in the elm over the door, and pointed out the view over the valley where the sinking sun was flashing crimson from the weather vane on the little white spire of the church. She said how much they had enjoyed the sunsets since coming out here to live, taking it for granted that her visitor knew all about their circumstances, and making no apologies or comments. And the visitor, being what her son called a good sport, showed no hint that she had never heard of the holisters before, but smiled and said the right thing at the right moment. And somehow, neither knew, just how, they got to the subject of browning and ipsin, and from there to woman's suffrage. And when Graham returned with Carol and Harley, Doris chattering beside him and the dog bounding in ahead, they were deep in future politics. Graham sat and listened for a while, interested to note that the quiet little woman who had spent the last few years of her life working in a narrow, dark city kitchen could talk as thoughtfully and sensibly as his cultured, versatile mother. The next trolley brought Shirley and George, and again the mother was amazed to find how altogether free and easy seemed to be the relation between all these young people. She gave a keen look at Shirley and then another at her son, but saw nothing which gave her uneasiness. The girl was unconscious as a rose, and sweet and gracious to the stranger guests as if she had been in society all her life. She slipped away at once to remove her hat, and when she came back her hair was brushed, and she looked as fresh as a flower in her clean, white, ruffled blouse. The older woman could not take her eyes from her face. What a charming girl to be set among all the shabbiness, for by this time her discriminating eyes had discovered that everything, literally everything, was shabby. Who were these people, and how did they happen to get put here? The baby was ravishingly beautiful, the girls were charming, and the boys looked like splendid manly fellows. The mother was a product of culture and refinement. Not one word or action had shown that she knew her surroundings were shabby. She might have been mistress of a palace, for ought she showed of consciousness of the pitiful poverty about her. It was as if she were just dropped down for the day in a stray barn and making a palace out of it while she stayed. Unconsciously the woman of the world lingered longer than was her want in making calls. She liked the atmosphere, and was strangely interested by them all. I wish she would come and see me, she said cordially as she rose at last to go, and she said it as if she meant it, as if she lived right around the corner and not twenty-two miles away, as if she really wanted her to come, and not as if this other woman lived in a barn at all. Good old sport! commented her son in as hard as he listened. He had known she must see them worth, and yet he had been strangely afraid. Mrs. Hollister received the invitation with a flush of pleasure. Thank you! she insagreciously, but I'm afraid not. I seldom go anywhere any more, but I've been very glad to have had this call from you. It will be a pleasure to think about. Come some time again when you are out this way. Your son has been most kind. I cannot find words to express my thanks. Has he, and his mother looked questioningly at her son? Well, I'm very glad. Yes, and Elizabeth, she is a dearest sweet girl and we all love her. Revelations! Oh, has Elizabeth been here too? Well, I'm glad. I hope she has not been a nuisance. She's such an impulsive, erratic child. Elizabeth is quite a problem just now. She's out of school on account of her eyes, and her girlfriends, most of them being way at school. She is perfectly forlorn. I am delighted to have her with your children. I am sure they are charming associates for her. And her eyes rested approvingly on the sparkling carol in her simple school dress of brown linen with its white collar and cuffs. There was nothing contrived about carol. She looked dainty in the commonest rainment, and she smelled radiantly at Elizabeth's mother and won her heart.  She asked shyly. Why surely? I presume she would be delighted. She does about as she pleases these days. I really don't see very much of her. I am so busy this time of year, just at the end of the season, you know, and lots of committee meetings and teas and things. They stopped at the doorway to look up into the big tree in response to the earnest solicitations of Doris, who pulled at the lady's gloved hand insistently, murmuring sweetly, Bertie, Bertie, seen my buddy in detwee? The holestess stood grouped at the doorway when at last the visitors got into their car and went away. Mrs. Graham looked back at them wistfully. What a lovely group they made, she murmured. Now, Sidney, tell me at once who they are and why they live in a barn, and why you brought me out here. I know you had some special object. I knew the minute I saw that charming woman. Mother, you certainly are great. I thought you'd have the good sense to see what they are. Why, I haven't spent a more delightful hour in a long time than I spent talking with her. She has very original ideas, and she expresses herself well, as for the children. They are lovely. That oldest girl has a great deal of character in her face. But what are they doing in a barn, Sidney, and how did you come to know them?  One comment she made as they swept up the beautiful drive to their luxurious country home. Sidney dear, they are delightful and all that, and I'm sure I'm glad to have that little girl come to see Elizabeth. But if I were you, I wouldn't go out there too often when that handsome oldest girl is at home. She's not exactly in your set, you know, charming as she is, and you wouldn't want to give her any ideas. A gentleman looks out for things like that, you know. What has being in our set got to do with it, mother dear? Do you know any girl in our set that is better looking, or has nicer manners, or a finer appreciation of nature in books? You ought to hear her talk. Yes, but Sidney, that isn't everything. She isn't exactly mother. Were you and father when you used to have good times together?  Be a good sport, mother dear, and look the facts in the face. That girl is as good as any other girl I know, and you know it. She's better than most. Please admit the facts. Yet you never warned me to be careful about calling on any of the girls in our set. Do please be consistent. However, don't worry about me. I've no idea at present of paying any special attention to anybody, and he swung the car door open and jumped down to help her out. 14 A man arrived one morning with a horse and a plow and several other implements of farm life, of which Harley didn't know the name, and announced that Mr. Graham had sent him to plow the garden. Would Mrs. Hollister please tell him where she wanted the ground broken, and how much? He volunteered the information that he was her next door neighbor, and that if he was in her place he'd plow the south slope of the meadow, and if she wanted flower beds, a strip along the front near the road, the soil was best in those spots, and she wouldn't need so much fertilizer. Mrs. Hollister asked him how much he would charge to do it, and he said a little job like that wasn't worth talking about, that he used to rent the barn himself, and he always did a little turn for Mr. Graham whenever he needed it. He did it for Mr. Graham, and it wouldn't cost her nothing. Mrs. Hollister asked him how much he would charge to see where it would be best to have the plowing done, and when she came in a few minutes later and dropped down on the couch to rest from her unusual fatigue a new thought was racing through her mind. They could have a garden, a real garden, with lettuce and green peas and lime of beans and corn. She knew all about making them grow. She had been brought up in a little village home where a garden was a part of everyone's necessary equipment for living. She used to help her father every spring and all summer. Her own little patch always took the prize of the family. But for years she had been in the city without an inch of space. Now, however, the old fever of delight in gardening took possession of her. If she could get out and work in the ground as the doctor had suggested, she would get well right away. And why, with Harley to help, and George and Carol to work a little every evening, couldn't they raise enough on all that ground to sell some? George could take things into town early in the morning, or they could find some private families who would buy all they had to sell. It was worth thinking about, anyway. She could raise flowers for sale, too. She had always been a success with flowers. She had always wanted a hot house and a chance to experiment. She heard the children say there were some old window sashes down under the barn. She would get George to bring them out and see what she could do with a cold frame or two. Violets would grow under a cold frame and lots of other things. Oh, if they could only just live here always and not have to go back to this city in the fall. But, of course, there was no way to heat the barn in winter, and that was out of the question. Nevertheless, the idea of making some money with growing things had seized hold of her mind and would not be entirely put by. She thought of it much, and talked of it now and then to Shirley and the other children. Shirley brought home some packages of seeds she got at the Tencent store, and there was great excitement planting them. Then Mr. Graham sent over a lot of seeds, of both vegetables and flowers, and some shrubs, cuttings and bulbs, which he said were leftovers at their country house that he thought perhaps the children could use. And so, before the Hollisters knew it, they were possessed of a garden which almost in a breath lifted up its green head and began to grow. Life was very full for the Hollisters in those days, and those who went to the city for the day could hardly bear to tear themselves away from the many delights of the country. The puppy was getting bigger and wiser every day, tagging Doris and Harley wherever they went or sitting adoringly at Mrs. Hollister's feet, always bounding out to meet the evening trolley on which George and Shirley came, and always attending them to the trolley in the morning.  Another hen was happily ensconced in a barrel of hay with ten big blue duck eggs under her happy wings, and a little further down toward the creek a fine chicken run ended in a trig little roosting place for the poultry, which George had manufactured out of a packing box and some boards. The feathered family had been increased by two white leg horns and three bantams. George and Harley spent their evenings watching them and discussing the price of eggs and chickens per pound. They were all very happy. Elizabeth came out to spend Sunday as she had promised. She got up early to see the sunrise and watch the birds. She helped get breakfast and wash the dishes. Then she went with the others across the fields to the little white church in the valley, to Sunday school, and church. She was as hungry and eager as any of them when she came home, and joyfully helped to do the work, taking great pride in the potatoes she was allowed to warm up under careful tutelage. In the afternoon there was no more eager listener among them to the Bible story Shirley told to Doris, and the book she read aloud to them all afterward. Her voice was sweetest and clearest of them all in the hymns they sang together, and she was most eager to go with Shirley to the Christian endeavor. I shouldn't wonder if Sydney wishes he was here too.  She went to school with Carol the next morning, came home with her in the afternoon, and when her brother came for her in the evening she was most reluctant to go home to the big lonely elegant house again, and begged that Carol might soon come and see her. Friday afternoon Elizabeth called up Mrs. Hollister. Please, Mrs. Hollister, let Carol come and stay with me till Monday. I'm so lonesome, and Mama says she will be so glad if you will let her come. Oh, my dear, that would be impossible. Carol is insudably dressed to make a visit, you know, answered the mother quickly, glad that she had so good an excuse for keeping her child from this venture into an alien world about which she had many grave doubts. But the young voice at the other end of the telephone was insistent. Dear Mrs. Hollister, please, she doesn't need any other clothes. I've got lots of things that would fit her. She loaned me her gingham dress to make garden in. And why shouldn't I loan her a dress to wear on Sunday? I've got plenty of clean midi-blouses and skirts, and can fix her all out fresh for school to Monday morning. And if you'll just let her stay, Sidney will take us both down to her school when he goes to the office. You've got all those children there at home, and I've only myself.  So with a sigh the mother gave her consent, and Carol found the graham-car waiting for her when she came out of school. Thus she started on her first venture into the world. It was all like fairyland, that wonderful weekend, the little girl whose memories were full of burdens and sacrifices, the palatial home of many rooms and rich furnishings, the swarm of servants, the anticipation of every want, the wide, beautiful grounds with all that heart could wish in the way of beauty and amusement, the music room with grand piano, harp, and violin lying mute most of the time, the great library with its walls lined with rare books, mostly unread, everything there to satisfy any whim, reasonable or unreasonable, and nobody using any of it much. Not a room in the whole place as dear and cozy and homey as this, Sid Carol happily sinking into the old denim-covered couch before the fireplace in the barn living room that Monday night after she got home. I declare, mother, I don't see how Elizabeth stands it. Her mother is nice, but she's hardly ever there. Unless she has a swarm of people dinnering or teeing or lunching, she hardly ever has time to speak to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth doesn't seem to care much either. She almost seems to think more of that old nurse Susan that took care of her when she was a baby, than she does of her mother. I'm so glad I was sent to you instead of to her.  It was a wonderful relief to Mrs. Hollister to find her child unspoiled by her first experience of the world, and glad to get back to her home after all the anxiety her mother had felt. Carol presently set up and told them minutely all about her visit, the grand concert that Sydney had taken them to Friday evening in the Academy of Music, where a world-renowned pianist was the soloist with the great symphony orchestra, the tennis and riding Saturday morning, the luncheon at a neighboring estate, where there were three girls and a brother who were snobs, and hadn't at all good manners. The party in the evening that lasted so late that they didn't get to bed till long after midnight, the beautiful room they slept in, with every imaginable article for the toilet done in sterling silver with monograms, the strange Sabbath with no service in the morning because they woke up too late, and no suggestion of anything but a holiday, except the Vespa service in a cold, formal chapel that Carol had begged to go to, just a lot of worldly music and entertaining, with a multitude of visitors for the end of it. Carol told of the beautiful dresses that Elizabeth had loaned her, coral crepe de chine accordion pleaded for the concert, white with an orange sash for the luncheon, pale yellow with a black velvet girdle for the party, a little blue silk affair and another lovely white organ-die for Sunday, and all with their accompanying silk stockings and slippers and gloves and necklaces and bands for her hair. It was most wonderful to her, and as they listened they marveled that their Carol had come back to them so gladly and rejoiced to see her nestling in her brown linen skirt and midi-blouse close beside her mother's chair. She declared herself satisfied with her flight into the world. She might like to go again for a glimpse now and then, but she thought she would rather have Elizabeth out to Glenside. She hated to lose any of the time out here. It was so pretty. Besides, it was lonesome without them all. About that time Shirley picked up the morning paper in her office one day to look up a matter for Mr. Barnard. Her eye happened to fall on the Society column and catch the name of Sydney Graham. She glanced down the column. It was an account of a wedding in high circles in which Graham had taken the part of Best Man, with Miss Harriet Hale in blue tulle and white orchids as made of honour for his partner down the aisle. She read the column hurriedly, hungrily, getting every detail, white spats, gardenia and all, until in those few printed sentences a picture was printed indelibly upon her vision of Graham walking down the lily garlanded aisle with the maid in blue tulle and white orchids on his arm. To make it more vivid the lady's picture was in the paper along with Graham's, just under those of the bride and groom, and her face was both handsome and haughty. One could tell that by the tilt of her chin, the short upper lip, the cynical curve of mouth and sweep of long eyelash, the extreme effect of her dress and the arrangement of her hair.  Shirley suddenly realized what she was doing and turned over the page of the paper with a jerk that tore the sheet from top to bottom, going on with her search for the real estate column and the item she was after. All that morning her typewriter keys clicked with mad rapidity, yet her work was strangely correct and perfect. She was working under a tense strain. By noon she had herself in hand, realized what she had been doing with her vagrant thoughts, and was able to laugh at Miss Harriet Hale, whoever or whatever she was. What mattered it, Miss Harriet Hale or somebody else? What was that to Shirley Hollister? Mr. Graham was her landlord and a kindly gentleman. He would probably continue to be that to her to the end of her tenancy without regard to Miss Hale or any other intruding miss. And what did anything else matter? She wanted nothing else of Mr. Graham but to be a kindly gentleman whenever it was her necessity to come in his way. But although her philosophy was on hand and her pride was aroused, she realized just where her height might have been tending if it had not been for this little jolt it got, and she resolved to keep out of the gentleman's way whenever it was possible, and also as far as she was able to think no more about him. Keeping out of Sidney Graham's way was one thing, but making him keep out of her way was quite another matter, and Shirley realized it every time he came out to Glenside, which he did quite frequently. She could not say to him that she wished he would not come. She could not be rude to him when he came. There was no way of showing him pointedly that she was not thinking of him in any way but as her landlord, because he never showed in any way that he was expecting her to. He just happened in, evening after evening, in his frank jolly way, on one pretext or other, never staying very long, never showing her any more attention than he did her mother or Carol or the boys, not so much as he did to Doris. How was she to do anything but sit quietly and take the whole thing as a matter of course? It really was a matter to deal with in her own heart alone. And there the battle must be fought, if ever battle there was to be. Meantime she could not but own that this frank, smiling, merry young man did bring a lot of life and pleasure into their lives, dropping in that way, and why should she not enjoy it when it came, seeing it in no wise interfere with Miss Harriet Hale's rights and prerogatives. Nevertheless Shirley withdrew more and more into quietness whenever he came, and often slipped into the kitchen on some household pretext, until one day he boldly came out into the kitchen after her with a book he wanted her to read, and was so frank and companionable that she led the way back to the living room and concluded it would be better in future to stay with the rest of the family. Shirley had no intention whatever of letting her heart stray out after any impossible society man. She had her work in the world, and to it she meant to stick. If there were dreams she kept them well under lock and key, and only took them out now and then at night when she was very tired and discouraged, and life looked hard and long and lonely on ahead. Shirley had no intention that Sidney Graham should ever have reason to think, when he married Miss Harriet Hale, or someone equivalent to her, that any poor little stenographer living in a barn had at one time fancied him fond of her. No indeed. Shirley tilted her firm little chin at the thought, and declined to ride with Graham and Elizabeth the next time they called at the office for her, on the plea that she had promised to go home in the trolley with one of the office girls, and yet the next time she saw him he was just as pleasant, and showed no sign that she had declined his invitation. In fact the whole basis of their acquaintance was such that she felt free to go her own way, and yet no he would be just as pleasant a friend whenever she needed one. Matters stood in this way when Graham was suddenly obliged to go west on a trip for the office, to be gone three or four weeks. Mrs. Graham and Elizabeth went to the Adirondacks for a short trip, and the people at Glenside settled down to quiet country life, broken only by a few visits from their farm neighbors, and a call from the cheery, shabby pastor of the little white church in the valley. CHAPTER XVI Graham did not seem to forget his friends entirely while he was gone. The boys received a number of postcards from time to time, and a lot of fine views of California, Yellowstone Park, the Grand Canyon, and other spots of interest. A wonderful picture book came for Doris, with Chinese pictures and rhymes printed on cray paper. The next morning a tiny Cindlewood fan arrived for Carol, with Graham's compliments, and a few days later a big box of oranges for Mrs. Hollister, with no clue whatever as to the Ascender, surely began to wonder what her pot would be, and what she should do about it, and presently received a letter. And then after all, it was only a pleasant request that she would not pay the rent about which she had always been so punctual until his return, as no one else understood about his affairs. He added a few words about his pleasant trip, and wished that they were all prospering. And that was all. Shirley was disappointed, of course, and yet, if he had said more, or if he had ventured to send her even a mere trifle of a gift, it would have made her uncomfortable, and set her questioning how she should treat him and it. It was the perfection of his behavior that he had not overstepped a single bound that the most particular might set for landlord and his respected tenant. She drew a deep sigh and put the letter back into the envelope, and as she did so she spied a small card, smaller than the envelope, on which was an exquisite bit of scenery, a colored photograph, apparently, and underneath had been penciled one of the many beautiful spots in California that I am sure you would appreciate. Her hut gave an unforbidden leap and was promptly taken to task for it. Yet, when Shirley went back to her typewriter, the bit of a picture was pinned to the wall back of her desk, and her eyes rested on it many times that day when she lifted them from her work. It is questionable whether Shirley remembered Miss Harriet Hale at all that day. The garden was growing beautifully now. There would soon be lettuce and radishes ready to eat. George had secured a number of customers through people at the store, and was planning to take early trips to town when his produce was ripe to deliver it. They watched every night and looked again every morning, for signs of the first pea blossoms, and the little green spires of onion tops, like sparse hairs beginning to shoot up, every day brought some new wonder. They almost forgot they had ever lived in the little old brick house, until George rode by there on his bicycle one noon, and reported that it had been half pulled down, and you could now see the outline of where the stairs and closets had been, done in plaster, on the side of the next house. They were all very silent for a minute, thinking after he told that, and Mrs. Hollister looked around the great airy place in which they were sitting, and then out the open door, where the faint stain of sunset was still lingering against the horizon, and said, We ought all to be very thankful children. George, get the Bible, and read the thirty-fourth Psalm. Wonderingly George obeyed, and they all sat listening as the words sank into their souls. Now, said the mother when the Psalm was finished, and those last words, the Lord redeemed the soul of his servants, and none of them that trust in him shall be desolate. Now let us kneel down and thank him. And they all knelt, while she prayed a few earnest, simple words of thanksgiving, and commended them to God's keeping. By this time Mrs. Hollister was so well, that she went every day for a little while into the garden and worked, and was able to do a great deal in the house. The children were overjoyed, and lived in a continual trance of delight over the wild, free life they were living. Carol's school had closed, and Carol was at home all day. This made one more to help in the garden. George was talking about building a little pigeon-house and raising squabs for sale. The man who did the plowing had given him a couple to start with, and told him there was money in squabs, if one only went about it right. George and Harley poured over a book that told all about it, and talked much on the subject. The weather was growing warm, and Shirley was wishing her vacation came in July or August, instead of the first two weeks in September. Somehow she felt so used up these hot days, and the hour was dragged by so slowly. At night the trolleys were crowded until they were half way out to Glenside. She often had to stand, and her head ached a great deal. Yet she was very happy and thankful. Only there was so much to be done in this world, and she seemed to have so little strength to do it all. The burden of next fall came occasionally to mar the beauty of the summer, and rested heavily upon her young shoulders. If only there wouldn't be any winter for just one year, and they could stay in the barn and get rested, and get a little money ahead somehow for moving. It was going to be so hard to leave that wide, beautiful, abiding place, barn though it was. One morning, nearly four weeks after Graham left for California, Shirley was called from her desk to the outer office to take some dictation for Mr. Clegg. While she was there, two men entered the outer office and asked for Mr. Barnard. One of them was a short, thick-set man with a pretentious wide-grey mustache, parted in the middle, and combed elaborately out on his cheeks.  And with the three showy jeweled rings which he wore on his fat pudgy hand, the other man was sly, quiet, gray, unobtrusive, obviously the henchmen of the first. Mr. Clegg told the men they might go into the inner office and wait for Mr. Barnard, who would probably be in shortly, and surely watched them as they passed out of her view, wondering idly why those exquisite stones had to be wasted in such an out-of-place spot as in that coarse-looking man's necktie, and if a man like that really cared for beautiful things. Else why should he wear them? It was only a passing thought, and then she took up her pencil and took down the closing sentences of the letter Mr. Clegg was dictating. It was but a moment more and she was free to go back to her own little alcove just behind Mr. Barnard's office and connecting with it. There was an entrance to it from the tiny cloakroom which she always used when Mr. Barnard had visitors in his office, and through this way she now went, having a strange repugnance toward being seen by the two men. She had an innate sense that the man with the gaudy garments would not be one who would treat a young girl in her position with any respect, and she did not care to come under his coarse gaze, so she slipped in quietly through the cloakroom and passed, like a shadow, the open door into Mr. Barnard's office, where they sat with their backs toward her, having evidently just settled down and begun to talk. She could hear a low-breath comment on the furnishings of the office as indicating a good bank account of the owner, and a coarse jest about a photograph of Mr. Barnard's wife which stood on his desk. It made her wish that the door between the rooms was closed, yet she did not care to rise and close it, lest she should call attention to herself, and, of course, it might be but a minute or two before Mr. Barnard returned. A pile of envelopes to be addressed lay on her desk, and this work she could do without any noise, so she slipped softly into her seat and began to work. Well, we got them grams good and fast now! A coarse voice that she knew for that of the man with the loud clothing spoke. The young fellow bit all right. I thought he would. He's that kind. He stopped for a laugh of contempt, and Shirley's heart stood still with apprehension. What could it mean? Was it something about her crams? Some danger threatening them? Some game being played on them? He looked like the kind of man who lived on the blindnesses of others. What was it they called such? A parasite? Instinctively she was on the alert at once, and automatically she reached for the pad on which she took dictation, and began to write down in shorthand what she had just heard. The voice in the other room went on, and her fountain pen kept eager pace, her breath coming quick and short now, and her face white with excitement. He went out to see the place, you know. Exe'min' the mines and all that. Oh, he's awful cautious. Thought he took a government expert with him to test the oar. We fixed that up all right. Had the very man on tap at the right minute. Government paper's all OK. You couldn't have told him from the real thing. It was Casey. You know him. He's a crack-a-jack on a job like that. Could fool the devil himself. Well, he swore it was the finest kind of oar and all that kind of dope, and led that graham kid around as sweetly as a blue-eyed baby.  Casey tended to that, and now he's come home with the biggest kind of a tale, and ready to boost the thing to the skies. I've got his word for it, and his daddy is to sign the papers this morning. When he wakes up one of these fine days, he'll find himself minus a hundred thousand or so, and nobody to blame for it, because how could anybody be expected to know that those are only pockets? He'll recommend it right and left, too, and we'll clean out a lot of other fellas before we get done. Teddy, my boy, pat yourself on the back. We'll have a tidy little sum between us when we pull out of this deal, and take a foreign trip for our health, till the fracas blows over. Now, mind you, not a word of this to Barnard when he comes in. We're only going to pave the way this morning. The real tip comes from graham himself. See? Shirley was faint and dizzy with excitement as she finished writing, and her brain was in a whirl. She felt as if she would scream in a minute, if this strain kept up. The papers were to be signed that morning. Even now the deed might be done, and it would be too late, perhaps, to stop it. And yet she must make no sign, must not have the men know that she was there, and that they had been heard. She must sit here breathless until they were gone, so they would not know she had overheard them, or they might manage to prevent her getting word to graham. How long would they stay? Would they talk on and reveal more? The other man had only grunted something unintelligible in reply, and then, before more could be said, an office boy opened the outer door and told them that Mr. Barnard had just phoned, that he would not be back before two o'clock. The men swore and went out grumbling. Suddenly Shirley knew her time had come to do something. Stepping quickly to the door, she scanned the room carefully to make sure they were gone. Then, closing her own door, she took up the telephone on her desk, and called up the graham number. She did not know just what she meant to say, nor what she would do if Sydney Graham were not in the office. And it was hardly probable he would be there yet if he had only arrived home the day before. He would be likely to take a day off before getting back to work. Her throbbing heart beat out those questions to her brain while she waited for the number. Would she ask for Mr. Walter Graham? And if she did, what would she say to him? How explained? He did not know her, and probably never heard of her. He might think her crazy. Then there was always the possibility that there was some mistake, and yet it seemed to coincidence that two men of the same name should both be going west at that time. It must be these grains that the plot was against. But how explain enough over the phone to do any good? Of course, she must give them a copy of what she had taken down in shorthand, but first she must stop the signing of those papers, whatever they were, at all costs. Then all at once into the midst of her whirling confusion of thoughts came a voice at the other end of the phone. Hello? And her frantic senses realized that it was a familiar one. Oh! Is this—this is Mr. Sidney Graham, isn't it? This is Shirley Hollister.  Yes? Is there anything in the matter, Miss Shirley? You are not ill, are you? There was a sharp note of anxiety in the young man's voice, and even in her excitement it made Shirley's heart leap to hear it. No, there is nothing to matter with me, she said, trying to steady her voice, but something has happened that I think you ought to know at once. I don't know whether I ought to tell it over the phone. I'm not sure, but I may be overheard. I will come to you immediately. Where can I find you? Her heart leaped again at his willingness to trust her and to obey her call. In Mr. Barnard's private office, if you ask for me, they will let you come right in. There is one thing more. If there is anything important to your father was to decide this morning, could you get him to wait till you return, or till you phone him? There was a second hesitation, and the reply was politely puzzled but courteous. He is not in the office at present, and will not be for an hour. Oh! I'm so glad! Then please, hurry! I will get there as soon as I can, and the phone clicked into place.  Then she turned to her typewriter and began to copy off the shorthand, her fingers flying over the keys with more than the usual swiftness. As she wrote, she prayed, prayed that nothing might have been signed and that her warning might not come too late. Prayed, too, that Mr. Barnard might not return until Mr. Graham had been and gone, and that Mr. Graham might not think her an utter fool in case this proved to have nothing whatever to do with his affairs. CHAPTER XVII When Graham entered the office, Shirley came to meet him quietly, without a word of greeting other than to put her little cold hand into his that he held out to her. She began to speak in a low voice full of suppressed excitement. She had a vague fear lest the two men might be still lingering about the outer office waiting for Mr. Barnard, and a momentary dread lest Mr. Barnard might enter the room at any minute. She must get the telling over before he came. Mr. Graham! Two men were sitting in this room waiting for Mr. Barnard a few minutes ago, and I was in my little room just back there. I could not help hearing what they said, and when I caught the name of Graham in connection with what sounded like an evil plot, I took down their words in shorthand. It may not have anything to do with your firm, but I thought I ought to let you know. I called you on the phone as soon as they left the office and would not hear me, and I have made this copy of their conversation. Read it quickly, please, because if it does have anything to do with you, you will want to phone your father at once before those men can get there. Her tone was very cool, and her hand was steady as she handed him the typewritten paper, but her heart was beating wildly, because they had been a look in his eyes as he greeted her, that made her feel that he was glad to see her, and it touched an answering gladness in her heart, and filled her both with delight and with apprehension.  She turned sharply away and busied herself with arranging some papers on Mr. Barnard's desk while he read. She must still this excitement and get control of herself before he was through. She must be the cool, impersonal stenographer, and not let him suspect for a moment that she was so excited about seeing him again. The young man stood still, reading rapidly, his face growing graver as he read. The girl snatched a furtive glance at him, and felt convinced that the matter was a serious one, and had to do with him. Suddenly he looked up. "'Do you know who those men were, Miss Shirley?' he asked, and she saw his eyes were full of anxiety. "'No,' said Shirley, but I saw them as they passed through the outer office, and stopped to speak to Mr. Clegg. I was taking dictation for Mr. Clegg at the time. I came back to my desk through the cloakroom, so they did not know I was within hearing. "'What kind of looking men were they? Do you remember?' she described them. Certainty grew in his face as she talked, and grave concern. "'May I use your phone a minute?' he asked, after an instant's thought. She led him to her own desk, and handed him the receiver. Then stepped back into the office, and waited. "'Hello? Is that you, Edward?' she heard him say. "'Has Father come yet?' "'Give me his phone, please.' "'Hello, Father, this is Sidney. Father, has criminals come in yet?' "'He has.' "'You say he's waiting in the office to see you?' "'Well, don't see him, Father, till I get there. Something has turned up that I'm afraid is going to alter matters entirely.' "'Yes, pretty serious, I'm afraid. Don't see him. Keep him waiting. I'll be there in five minutes, and come in from the back way, directly to your office. Don't talk with him on any account till I can get there. Goodbye.' He hung up the receiver, and turned to Shirley. "'Miss Shirley, you were just in time to save us. I haven't time now to tell you how grateful I am for this. I must hurry right over. Do you suppose, if we should need you, it would be possible for you to come over and identify those men? Thank you. I'll speak to Mr. Clegg about it as I go out, and if we find it necessary, we'll phone you. In case you have to come, I'll have an office boy in the hall to take your hat, and you can come right into the office as if you were one of our employees. Just walk over to the bookcase as if you were looking for a book, any book. Select one, and look through it, meanwhile glancing around the room, and see if you find those men. Then walk through into my office. I'll be waiting there. Goodbye, and thank you so much.' He gave her hand one quick clasp and was gone, and Shirley found she was trembling from head to foot. She walked quickly into her own room, and sat down, burying her face in her hands, and trying to get control of herself, but the tears would come to her eyes in spite of all she could do. It was not the excitement of getting the men and stopping the evil plans before they could do any damage, although that had something to do with her nervous state of course. And it was not just that she had been able to do a little thing in return for all he had done for her, nor even his gratitude. It was—she could not deny it to herself. It was a certain quality in his voice, as something in the look he gave her that made her whole soul glow, and seemed to fill the hungry longing that had been in her heart. It frightened her and made her shamed, and as she sat with bowed head she prayed that she might be given strength to act like a sensible girl, and crush out such foolish thoughts before they did lift their heads and be recognized even by her own heart. Then strengthened she resolved to think no more about the matter, but just get her work done, and be ready to enter into that other business if it became necessary. Mr. Barnard would be coming soon, and she must have his work finished. She had lost almost an hour by this matter. She went at her typewriter, Pelmel, and soon had Mr. Clegg's letters done. She was nearly through with the addressing that Mr. Barnard left for her to do, when the telephone called her to Graham's office. She slipped on her hat and hurried out. "'Will it be all right for me to take my noontime now, Mr. Clegg?' she said, stopping by his desk. Mr. Graham said he spoke to you. "'Yes. He wants you to help him identify someone. That's all right. I'll explain to Mr. Barnard when he comes. There's nothing important you have to finish, is there? All done but those envelopes? Well, you'd needn't return until one o'clock anyway. The envelopes can wait till the four o'clock mail. And if Mr. Barnard needs anything in a hurry, Miss Dwight can attend to it this time. Just take your time, Miss Hollister.' Surely went out bewildered by the unusual generosity of Mr. Clegg, who was usually taciturn and abrupt. She realized, however, that his warmth must be due to Graham's visit, and not to any special desire to give her a holiday. She smiled to think what a difference wealth and position made in the eyes of the world. The same office boy she had met on her first visit to Graham's office was waiting most respectfully for her now in the hall, when she got out of the elevator, and she gave him her hat, and walked into the office according to program, going straight to the big glass bookcase full of calf-bound volumes, and selecting one after running her finger over two rows of them. She was as cool as though her part had been rehearsed many times, although her heart was pounding most unmercifully, and it seemed as though the people in the next room must hear it. She stood in, opened her book, casting a casual glance about the room. There, sure enough, quite near to her, sat the two men, fairly bursting with impatience. The one semaculate hair of the loudly-dressed one was rumpled as if he had run his fingers through it many times, and he played nervously with his heavy rings, and caressed half viciously his elaborate mustache, working his thick, sensuous lips impatiently all the while. Surely took a good look at him, necktie, scarf-pin, and all, looked keenly into the face of the grey one also, then coolly closed the door of the bookcase, and carried the book she had selected into Sidney Graham's office. Graham was there, standing to receive her, and just back of him stood a kindly-faced, elderly man with merry blue eyes, grey hair, and a stylishly cut beard. By their attitude and manner, surely somehow sense that they had both been watching her. Then Graham introduced her. This is my father, Miss Hollister. The elder man took her hand and shook it heartily, speaking in a gruff hearty way that won her from the first. I'm glad to know you, Miss Hollister. I certainly am. My son has been telling me what you've done for us, and I think you're a great little girl. That was bully work you did, and I appreciate it. I was watching you out there in the office. You were as cool as a cucumber.  You found your men all right, did you? Yes, sir," said Shirley, much abashed, and feeling the return of that foolish trembling in her limbs. Yes, they are both out there, and the short one with the rings and the blue necktie is the one that did the talking. Exactly what I thought, drawled the father with a keen twinkle in his kindly eyes. I couldn't somehow trust that chap from the start. That's why I sent my son out to investigate. Well, now, will you just step into my private office, Miss Hollister, and take your seat by the typewriter as if you were my stenographer? You'll find paper there in the drawer, and you can just be writing. Write anything you choose, so it looks natural when the men come in. When we get to talking, I'd like you to take down in shorthand all that is said by all of us. You're pretty good at that, I judge. Sid, will you phone for those officers now? I think it's about time for the curtain to rise." And he led the way into his own office. Shirley sat down at the typewriter as she had been directed, and began to write mechanically. Mr. Graham touched the bell on his desk, and told the office boy who answered to send in Mr. Kremnitz and his companion. Shirley was so seated that she could get occasional glimpses of the men without being noticed, and she was especially interested in the twinkle that shone in the bright blue eyes of the Elder Graham, as he surveyed the men who thought he was the adoop. Her heart warmed to him. His kindly merry face, his hearty unconventional speech, all showed him to be a big warm-hearted man, without a bit of snobbishness about him. The sun came in, and talk began just as if the matter of the mine were going on. Mr. Kremnitz produced some papers, which he evidently expected to be signed at once, and sat complacently answering questions. Keen questions, Shirley saw they were afterwards, and in the light of the revelation she had overheard in Mr. Barnard's office, Kremnitz purged himself hopelessly by his answers. Presently the office boy announced the arrival of someone in the next room. Shirley had taken down minutely a great deal of valuable information which the Graham's had together drawn from their victim. She was surprised at the list of wealthy businessmen who were to have been involved in the scheme. Then suddenly the quiet scene changed. The Elder Graham gave a signal to his office boy, which looked merely like waving him away, and the door was flung open, revealing four officers of the law who stepped into the room without further word. Graham arose, and faced his two startled collars, his hand firmly planted on the papers on his desk which he had been supposed to sign. Mr. Kremnitz, he said, and even in the midst of this serious business, Shirley fancied there was a half comic drawl to his words. He simply could not help letting his sense of humour come on top. Mr. Kremnitz, it is not going to be possible for me to sign these papers this morning as you expected. I do not feel satisfied that all things are as you have represented. In fact, I have the best evidence to the contrary. Officer, these are the gentlemen you have come to arrest, said he, and he stepped back and waved his hand toward the two conspirators who sat with startled eyes and blanched faces, appalled at the sudden developments where they had thought all was moving happily toward their desired end. Arrest? Who? On what charge? flashed the little gaudy Kremnitz, angrily springing into his feet and making a dash toward the door, while his companions slid furtively toward the other end of the room, evidently hoping to gain young Graham's office before he was noticed. But two officers blocked their way and the handcuffs clanked in the hands of the other two policemen. Why arrest you, my friend? said Graham Sr., as if he rather enjoyed the little man's discomforture, and for trying to perpetrate the biggest swindle that has been attempted for ten years. I must say for you that you've worked hard, and done the trick rather neatly, but you made one unfortunate slip that saved all us poor rich men.  They don't seem to match well with your other jewels. But that's the way things go in this world. Now take them away, officer. I have no more time to waste on them this morning. And he turned and walked over by Shirley's desk, while the curtain fell over the brief drama.  Just plain saved? I'll tell you, a clean hundred thousand. That's what I was going to put into this affair. And as for other men, I expected to influence a lot of other men to put in a good deal also. Now, little girl, I don't know what you think about it, but I want to shake hands. He put out his hand, and Shirley laid her own timid one in it, smiling and blushing rosely, and saying softly with what excited breath she had, oh, I'm so glad I got to you in time. Then she was aware that the man had gone on talking. I don't know what you think about it, he repeated, but I feel that you saved me a clean hundred thousand dollars, and I say that a good percentage of that belongs to you, as a reward of your quickness and keenness. But Shirley drew away her hand and stepped back.  She spoke clearly and earnestly. No, Mr. Graham, nothing whatever belongs to me. I don't want any reward. I couldn't think of taking it. It is utterly out of the question. Well, well, well," said the elder Graham, sitting down on the edge of his desk, watching her in undisguised admiration. Now, that's a new kind of girl that won't take what she's earned. What rightly belongs to her? Mr. Graham, it was a very little thing I did. Anybody would have done it. And it was just in the way of simple duty, please, don't say anything more about it. I am only too glad to have had opportunity to give a little help to people who have helped me so much. I feel that I am under deep obligation to your son, for making it possible for us to live in the country when my mother is getting well. Well, now, I shall have to inquire into this business. I haven't heard anything about obligations. And for my part, I feel a big one just now. Perhaps you think it was a very little thing you did. But suppose you hadn't done it. Suppose you'd been too busy. Or it hadn't occurred to you to take down that conversation until it was too late. Or suppose you hadn't had the brains to see what it would mean to us. Why, then it would have become a very big thing indeed. And we should have been willing, if we had known, to pay a mighty big sum to get that evidence. You see, a hundred thousand dollars isn't exactly a very little thing when you're swindled out of it. It's the swindling that hurts more than the loss of the money. And you saved us from that. Now, young lady, I consider myself under obligation to you, and I intend to discharge it somehow. If I can't do it one way, I shall another. But in the meantime, I'm deeply grateful, and please accept our thanks. If you are willing to add one more to your kindness, I shall be glad if you will make a carbon copy of those shorthand notes you took. I may need them for evidence. And by the way, you will probably be called upon to testify in court. I'm sorry. That may be unpleasant, but I guess it can't be helped. So you see, before you get through you may not think you did so very small a thing after all. Sid, I think you better escort this young lady back to her office and explain to Barnard. He's probably been on the verge of being bunked out also. You said Kremnitz was waiting for him when the conversation took place. I guess you'd better go with Miss Hollister and clear the whole thing up. Say, child, have you had your lunch yet? No, of course not. Sidney, you take her to get some lunch before she goes back to the office. She's had an exciting morning.  I shan't forget what you've done for us, and I'm coming to see you pretty soon and get things squared up. So that was how it came about, that in spite of her protests Mr. Sidney Graham escorted Shirley Hollister into one of the most exclusive tea-rooms of the city, and seated her at a little round table set for two, while off at a short distance Miss Harriet Hale sat with her mother, eating her lunch, and trying in vain to place the pretty girl she did not recognize. It never occurred to her for a moment that Sidney Graham's companion might be a stenographer. Shirley had a knack about her clothes that made her always seem well-dressed. That hat she wore had seen service for three summers, and was now a wholly different shape and color from what it had been when it began life. A scrub in hot water had removed the dust of toil. Some judiciously applied dye had settled the matter of color, and a trifling manipulation on her head while the hat was still wet had made the shape not only exceedingly stylish but becoming the chic little rosette and strictly tailored band which were at sole trimming were made from a much-soiled waste ribbon washed and stretched around a bottle of hot water to dry it, and teased into the latest thing in rosettes by Shirley's witching fingers. The simple linen dress she wore fitted well, and at a distance could not have been told from something better, and neither were gloves and shoes near enough to be inspected critically. So Miss Hale was puzzled, and jealously watched the pretty color come and go in Shirley's cheek and the simple grace of her movements. Fortunately, Shirley did not see Miss Hale, and would not have recognized her if she had from that one brief glimpse she had of her picture on the society page of the newspaper. So she ate her delectable lunch ordered by Graham in terms that she knew not about dishes that she had never seen before. She ate and enjoyed herself so intensely that it seemed to her she would never be able to make the rest of her life measure up to the privileges of the hour. For Shirley was a normal girl. She could not help being pleased to be doing just for once exactly as other more favored girls did constantly. To be lunching at Blancos, with one of the most sought after men in the upper set, to be treated like a queen, and to be talking beautiful things about travels and pictures and books, it was all too beautiful to be real. Shirley began to feel that if it didn't get over pretty soon and find her back in the office addressing the rest of those envelopes, she would think she had died in the midst of a dream and gone to heaven. There was something else, too, that brought an undertone of beauty which she was not acknowledging even to her inmost self. That was the way Graham looked at her as if she were some fine, beautiful angel dropped down from above that he loved to look at, as if he really cared what she thought and did as if there were somehow a soul harmony between them that set them apart this day from others and put them into tune with one another as if he were glad, glad to see her once more after the absence, all through her being enthrilled like a song that brings tears to the throat and gladness to the eyes and makes one feel strong and pure. That was how it seemed when she thought about it afterward, at the time she was just living it in wonder and thanksgiving. At another time her sordid worldliness and pride might have risen and swelled with haughtiness of spirit over the number of people who eyed her enviously as they went out together. Over the many bows and salutations her escort received from people of evident consequence, for she had the normal human pride somewhere in her nature as we all have. But just then her heart was too humble with the new strange happiness to feel it or take it in, and she walked with unconscious grace beside him, feeling only the joy of being there. Later, in the quiet of her chamber, her mother's warning came to her and her cheeks burnt with shame in the dark that her heart had dared make so much of a common little luncheon, just a mere courtesy after she had been able to do a favor. Yet, through it all, Shirley knew there was something fine and truvia that belonged just to her, and presently she would rise above everything and grasp it and keep at hers forever. She felt the distinction of her escort anew when she entered Barnard and Clegg's in his company, and saw Mr. Clegg spring to open the door and to set a chair for his young guest. Saw even Mr. Barnard rise and greet him with almost reverence, and this honor she knew was being paid to money, the great demagogue. It was not the man that she admired to whom they were paying deference, it was to his money. She smiled to herself. It was the man she admired, not his money. All that afternoon she worked with flying fingers, turning off the work at marvelous speed, amused when she heard the new note of respect to Mr. Barnard's voice as he gave her a direction. Mr. Barnard had been greatly impressed with the story Graham had told him, and was also deeply grateful on his own account that Shirley had acted as she had, for he had been on the verge of investing a large trust fund that was in his keeping in the new mining operation, and it would have meant absolute failure for him. When Shirley left the office that night she was almost too tired to see which trolley was coming, but someone touched her on the arm, and there was Sidney Graham waiting for her beside his car, a little too passenger affair that she had never seen before, and that went like the wind. They took a road they had not traveled together before, and Shirley got in joyously, her heart all in a tumult of doubts and joys and questions. CHAPTER XVIII What that ride was to Shirley she hardly dared let herself think afterwards, sitting cosily beside Graham in the little racing-car, gliding through the better part of town where all the tall imposing houses slept with drawn blinds and dust-covered shutters proclaimed that their owners were far away from heat and toil. Out through wide roads and green-hedged lanes where stately mansions set in flowers and mimic landscapes loomed far back from road in dignified seclusion, passing now and then a car of people who recognized Graham and bowed in the same deferential way as they had done in the tea-room, and all the time his eyes were upon her, admiringly, delighting, and his care about her solicitous for her comfort. Once he halted the car and pointed off against the sunset where wide gables in battle-minted towers stood gray amidst a setting of green shrubbery and trees, and velvety lawns reached far to high-trim hedges arched in places for an entrance to the beautiful estate. "'That is my home over there,' he said, and watched her widening eyes. I wish I had time to take you over to-night, but I know you are tired and ought to get home and rest. Another time we'll go around that way.' And her heart leaped up as the car went forward again. There was to be another time then. Ah! But she must not allow it. Her heart was far too foolish already. Yet she would enjoy this ride, now she was started. They talked about the sunset and a poem he had lately read. He told her bits about his journey, referring to his experience at the mines, touching on some amusing incidents, sketching some of the queer characters he had met. Once he asked her quite abruptly if she thought her mother would be disturbed if he had a cement floor put in the basement of the barn sometime soon. He wanted to have it done before cold weather set in, and it would dry better now in the hot days. Of course, if it would be in the least disturbing to any of them it could wait. But he wanted to store a few things there that were being taken out of the office buildings, and he thought they would keep drier if there was a cement floor. When she said it would not disturb anyone in the least, would on the contrary be quite interesting for the children to watch, she was sure. He went easily back to California scenery and never referred to it again. All through the ride, which was across a country she had never seen before, and ended at Glenside, approaching from a new direction, there was a subtle something between them, a sympathy and quick understanding, as if they were comrades, almost partners in a lot of common interests. Shirley chided herself for it every time she looked up and caught his glance, and felt the thrill of pleasure in this close companionship. Of course, it was holy in her own imagination, and due entirely to the nervous strain through which she had passed that day, she told herself. Of course, he had nothing in his mind but the most ordinary kindly desire to give her a good time out of gratitude for what she had done for him. But nevertheless it was sweet, and Shirley was loathed to surrender the joy of it while it lasted, dream though it might be.  Foolishness! She was overwrought. It was a shame that human beings were so made that they had to become weak like that in a time of pleasant rejoicing. The family came forth noisily to meet them, rejoicing openly at Graham's return. George and Harley vying with each other to shout the news about the garden and the chickens and the dove-coat. Carol, demanding to know where was Elizabeth, and Doris earnestly looking in his face and repeating, "'It'll birdie fly away, Mr. Graham! All gone! Oh, it'll birdie fly away!' Even Mrs. Hollister came smiling to the door to meet him, and the young man had a warm word of hearty greeting and a handshake for each one. It was as if he had just got home to a place where he loved to be, and he could not show his joy enough. Shirley stood back for the moment, watching him, admiring the way his hair waved away from his temples, thinking how handsome he looked when he smiled, wondering that he could so easily fit himself into this group, which must, in the nature of things, be utterly different from his native element, rejoicing over the deference he paid to her plain quiet mother.  Then Mrs. Hollister did something perfectly unexpected and dreadful. She invited him to stay to dinner. Shirley stood back and gasped. Of course he would decline, but think of the temerity of inviting the wealthy and cultured Mr. Graham to take dinner in his own barn. Oh! but he wasn't going to decline at all. He was accepting as if it were a great pleasure Mrs. Hollister were conferring upon him. Sure he would stay. He had been wishing all the way out they would ask him. He had wondered whether he dared invite himself. Shirley, with her cheeks very red, hurried in to see that the tablecloth was put on straight, and look after one or two little things. But behold! he followed her out, and gently insisting and assisting, literally compelled her to come and lie down on the couch while he told the family what she had been through that day. Shirley was so happy she almost cried right there before them all. It was so wonderful to have someone take care of her that way. Of course it was only gratitude. But she had been taking care of other people so long that it completely broke her down to have someone take care of her. The dinner went much more easily than she had supposed it could with those cracked plates and the forks from which the silver was all worn off. Doris insisted that the guests sit next to her and butter her bread for her, and she occasionally caressed his coat-sleeve with a sticky little hand. But he didn't seem to mind it in the least, and smiled down on her and quite a brotherly way, arranging her bib when it got tangled in her curls and seeing that she had plenty of jelly on her bread. It was a beautiful dinner. Mother Hollister had known what she was about when she selected that particular night to invite unexpected company. There was stewed chicken on little round biscuits with plenty of gravy and current jelly, mashed potatoes, green peas, little new beets, and the most delicious custard pie for dessert, all rich velvety yellow with a golden brown top. The guest ate as if he enjoyed it and asked for a second piece of pie, just as if he were one of them. It was unbelievable. He helped clear off the table, too, and insisted on Carol's giving him a wiping-towel to help with the dishes. It was just like a dream. The young man tore himself reluctantly away about nine o'clock and went home. But before he left he took Shirley's hand and looked into her eyes with another of those deep understanding glances, and surely watched him whirling away in the moonlight, and wondered if there ever would be another day as beautiful and exciting and wonderful as this had been, and whether she could come down to sensible everyday living again by morning. Then there was the story of the day to tell all over again after he was gone, and put in the little family touches that had been left out when the guest was there, and there was, oh, did you notice how admiring he looked when he told Mother Shirley had a remarkably keen mind, and he said his father thought Shirley was the most unspoiled-looking girl he had ever seen, and a lot of other things that Shirley hadn't heard before. Shirley told her mother what the senior Mr. Graham had said about giving her a reward, and her mother agreed that she had done just right in declining anything for so simple a service. But she looked after Shirley with a sigh as she went to put doors to bed, and wondered if for this service the poor child was to get a broken heart. It could hardly be possible that a girl could be given much attention, such as Shirley had received that day, from as attractive a young man as Graham, without feeling it keenly not to have it continue. And, of course, it was out of the question that it should continue. Mrs. Hollister decided that she had done wrong to invite the young man to stay to supper, and resolved never to offend in that way again. It was a wrong to Shirley to put him on so intimate a footing in the household, and it could not but bring her sadness. He was a most unusual young man to have even wanted to stay, but one must not take that for more than a passing whim, and Shirley must be protected at all hazards. Now, said the elder Graham the next morning, when the business of the day was well underway, and he had time to send for his son to come into his office, now I want you to tell me all about that little girl, and what you think we ought to give her. What did she mean by obligations, yesterday? Have you been doing anything for her son? I meant to ask you last night, but you came home so late I couldn't sit up. And then Sidney Graham told his father the whole story. It was different from telling his mother. He knew no barn would have the power to prejudice his father. And you say that girl lives in the old barn? exclaimed the father when the story was finished. Why, the nervy little kid? And she looks as if she came out of a band box. Well, she's a bully little girl and no mistake. Well, now, son, what can we do for her? We ought to do something pretty nice. You see, it wasn't just the money we might have lost. That would have been in me a trifle, beside getting all those other folks balled up in the mess. Why, I'd have given every cent I owned before I'd have had Fuller and Browning and Barnett and Wilts get entangled. I tell you, son, it was a great escape. Yes, father, and it was a great lesson for me. I'll never be bunkered as easily again. But about Miss Hollister. I don't know what to say. She's very proud and sensitive. I had an awful time doing the little things I just had to do to that barn, without her suspecting I was doing it, especially for her. Father, you ought to go out there and meet the family, then you'd understand. They're not ordinary people. Their father was a college professor and wrote things. They're cultured people. Well, I want to meet them.  I think they must be worth knowing. So late that afternoon the father and son rode out to Glenside, and when Shirley and George reached home, they found the car standing in front of their place, and the Graham's comfortably seated in the great open doorway, enjoying the late afternoon breeze, and seemingly perfectly at home in their own barn. I'm not going to swarm here every day, Miss Shirley, said the son, rising and coming out to meet her. You see, father hadn't heard about the transformation of the old barn, and the minute I told him about it he had to come right out and see it. Yes, said the father, smiling contentedly, I had to come and see what you'd done out here. I've played in the hay, up in that loft, many a day in my time, and I love the old barn. It's great to see it all fixed up so cozy. But we're going home now and let you have your dinner. We just waited to say howdy to you before we left. They stayed a few minutes longer, however, and the senior Graham talked with Shirley while he held Doris on his knee and stroked her silky hair, and she nestled in his arms, quite content. Then, although young Graham was quite loath to leave so soon, they went, for he could not in conscience expect an invitation to dinner two days in succession. They rode away into the sunset, going across country to their home, without going back to town, and Doris, as she stood with the others watching them away, murmured softly, Nice father-man! Nice Graham father-man! The nice Graham father-man was at that moment remarking to his son in very decided tones as he turned to get a last glimpse of the old barn. That old barn door ought to come down right away, Sid, and a nice big old-fashioned door with glass around the sides made to fill the space. That door is an eyesore in the place, and they need a piazza.  Yes, father, I've thought of that. But I don't just know how to manage it. You see, they're not objects of charity. I've been thinking about some way to fix up a heating arrangement without hurting their feelings, so they could stay there all winter. I know they hate to go back to the city, and they're only paying ten dollars a month. It's all they can afford. What could they get in the city for that? Great scot! A girl like that living in a house she could get for ten dollars? When some of these feather-brained baby-dolls we know can't get on with less than three or four houses that cost from fifty to a hundred thousand dollars a piece. Say, son, that's a peach of a girl. Do you know it? A peach of a girl. I've been talking with her, and she has a very superior mind. I know she has, father, answered the son humbly. I say, Sid, why don't you marry her? That would solve the whole problem. Then you could fix up the old barn into a regular house for her folks. Well, father, that's just what I've made up my mind to do, if she'll have me," said the son with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. Bully for you, Sid! Bully for you! And the father gave his son's broad shoulder a resounding slap. Why, Sid, I didn't think you had that much sense. Your mother gave me to understand that you were flandering around with that dolly-faced Harriet Hale, and I couldn't see what you saw in her. But if you mean it, son, I'm with you every time.  I'm afraid mother's got her hot set on Harriet Hale, said the son dubiously, but I can't see it that way. Hm! Your mother likes show, Sid the father comically, but she's got a good heart, and she'll bowl over all right and make the best of it. You know neither your mother nor I was such high and mighties when we were young, and we married for love. But now, if you really mean business, I don't see why we can't do something right away. When does that girl have her vacation? Of course, she gets one sometime. Why couldn't your mother just invite the whole family to occupy the shore cottage for a little while? Get up some excuse, Arata. Ask them to take care of it.  We might ship Elizabeth down there and let them be company for her. They seem like a fine set of children. It would do Elizabeth good to know them. Oh, she's crazy about them. She's been out a number of times with me, and don't you remember she had Carol out to stay with her? Was that the black-eyed sensible girl? Well, I declare. I didn't recognize her. She was all dolled up out at our house. I suppose Elizabeth loaned him to her, eh? Well, I'm glad. She's got sense too. That's the kind of people I'd like my children to know. Now, if that vacation could only be arranged to come when your mother and I take that western trip, why, it would be just the thing for Elizabeth. Work right all around. Now the thing for you to do is to find out about that vacation and begin to work things. Then you could have everything all planned and rush the work, so it would be done by the time they came back. So the two conspirators plotted, while all unconscious of their interest Shirley was trying to get herself in hand and not think how Graham's eyes had looked when he said good night to her.