or trying to
make up for the wrong her father did; and that, and not his
wrongdoing, influences you?"

Miss Daggett stared at him. Her face slowly reddened. "I wouldn't put
it that way," she said.

"What way would you put it?" demanded Elliot mercilessly. He was so
furious that he forgot to hold the umbrella over Miss Daggett, and
the rain drove in her hard, unhappy face. She did not seem to notice.
She had led a poisoned life, in a narrow rut of existence, and toxic
emotions had become as her native atmosphere of mind. Now she seemed
to be about to breathe in a better air of humanity, and she choked
under it.

"If--" she stammered, "that was--her reason, but--I always felt--that
nobody ever did such things without--as they used to say--an ax to
grind."

"This seems to me a holy sort of ax," said Elliot grimly, "and one
for which a Christian woman should certainly not fling stones."

They had reached the Daggett house. The woman stopped short. "You
needn't think I'm going around talking, any more than you would," she
said, and her voice snapped like a whip. She went up the steps, and
Elliot went home, not knowing whether he had accomplished good or
mischief.

Chapter XXI

Much to Mrs. Solomon Black's astonishment, Wesley Elliot ate no
dinner that day. It was his habit to come in from a morning's work
with a healthy young appetite keen-set for her beef and vegetables.
He passed directly up to his room, although she called to him that
dinner was ready. Finally she went upstairs and knocked smartly on
his door.

"Dinner's ready, Mr. Elliot," she called out.

"I don't want any today, thank you, Mrs. Black," was his reply.

"You ain't sick?"

"Oh, no, only not hungry."

Mrs. Black was alarmed when, later in the afternoon, she heard the
front door slam, and beheld from a front window Elliot striding down
the street. The rain had ceased falling, and there were ragged holes
in the low-hanging clouds which revealed glimpses of dazzling blue.

"I do hope he ain't coming down with a fever or something," Mrs.
Black said aloud. Then she saw Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Lois Daggett,
Mrs. Fulsom, and the wife of the postmaster approaching her house in
the opposite direction. All appeared flushed and agitated, and Mrs.
Black hastened to open her door, as she saw them hurrying up her wet
gravel path.

"Is the minister home?" demanded Lois Daggett breathlessly. "I want
he should come right down here and tell you wha