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her little domain. The intrusion of a heedless, blundering, fifteen-year-old boy would be a grave matter, a very grave matter, indeed.

She had just rolled out the crust and with it was lining a tin, when rapid footfalls mounted the porch and came through the house. She turned to confront Martha in the doorway.

"She's got the spells again, Miss Willis!"

{{c|"'I HAD TO DROP EVERYTHING AND HURRY OVER TO MIS' FRANCIS'" (SEE PAGE 580.)

The older woman flung off her apron and hastily wiped her hands.

"She's talking and crying like everything—"

"Did you send Peter for the doctor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come on, then."

Together they sped out across the yard and garden. So it happened that, ten minutes after the doctor had leisurely gone into the dwelling of Mrs. Millie Francis, a neat, gray-clad little man, and a sober, anxious-faced boy who had come up the walk, each carrying a satchel, found no one at home in the house of Miss Sarah Willis. Uncle Peter, however, had resumed his task in the yard.

"Does n't Miss Willis live here?" the little man demanded.

Uncle Peter leaned on his rake. "Yes, sir."

"Isn't she about anywhere?"

"Not jest this minute. She's been called to the neighbor's. Mis' Francis is havin' one of her faintin' spells, they say."

The little man pulled impatiently at his outstanding mustaches.

"When will she be back?"

"Well, I dunno. Prob'ly in a few minutes. She'd want you to wait, anyhow. Jest carry your things up to the porch."

Uncle Peter ambled away around the house, and acting upon his suggestion, the visitors deposited their luggage on the veranda and sat down. A quarter of an hour passed. The little man got up and pulled out his watch.

"I had a matter to see about here in town, Bruce," he said. "I'll run down and attend to it now instead of waiting here. You had better stay. Miss Willis will be back soon, I presume."

"All right, Mr. Claywater."

"I'll be back by twelve," the little man called, as he departed in the direction of Main Street.

For a few moments after his companion had gone, the boy sat still, with his head tipped back against the cushion of his chair, and his half-closed eyes looking into the tops of the maples.