guess I can tell! But he ain't been near her since."

She paused to wipe her eyes on a corner of her gingham apron.

"Fanny thought--at least I sort of imagined Mr. Elliot didn't like
the way you treated him that night," she went on piteously. "You're
kind of short in your ways, Jim, if you don't like anybody; don't you
know you are?"

The young man had thrust his hands deep in his trousers' pockets and
was glowering at the dough on the molding board.

"That's rotten nonsense, mother," he burst out. "Do you suppose, if a
man's really in love with a girl, he's going to care a cotton hat
about the way her brother treats him? You don't know much about men
if you think so. No; you're on the wrong track. It wasn't my fault."

His mother's tragic dark eyes entreated him timidly.

"I'm awfully afraid Fanny's let herself get all wrapped up in the
minister," she half whispered. "And if he--"

"I'd like to thrash him!" interrupted her son in a low tense voice.
"He's a white-livered, cowardly hypocrite, that's my name for Wesley
Elliot!"

"But, Jim, that ain't goin' to help Fanny--what you think of Mr.
Elliot. And anyway, it ain't so. It's something else. Do
you--suppose, you could--You wouldn't like to--to speak to him,
Jim--would you?"

"What! speak to that fellow about my sister? Why, mother, you must be
crazy! What could I say?--'My sister Fanny is in love with you; and I
don't think you're treating her right.' Is that your idea?"

"Hush, Jim! Don't talk so loud. She might hear you."

"No danger of that, mother; she was lying on her bed, her face in the
pillow, when I looked in her room ten minutes ago. Said she had a
headache and wasn't going."

Mrs. Dodge drew a deep, dispirited sigh.

"If there was only something a body could do," she began. "You might
get into conversation with him, kind of careless, couldn't you, Jim?
And then you might mention that he hadn't been to see us for two
weeks--'course you'd put it real cautious, then perhaps he--"

A light hurried step on the stair warned them to silence; the door
was pushed open and Fanny Dodge entered the kitchen. She was wearing
the freshly ironed white dress, garnished with crisp pink ribbons;
her cheeks were brilliant with color, her pretty head poised high.

"I changed my mind," said she, in a hard, sweet voice. "I decided I'd
go, after all. My--my head feels better."

Mother and son exchanged stealthy glances behind the girl's back as
she leaned to