e office. "My nerves are better, but still vibrant. I shall be
further restored on my return."

"Jest sign the register," proposed Hopper, pointing to a worn and
soiled book spread upon the counter. "Hate to trouble ye, but it's one
o' the rules o' my hotel."

"No trouble, thank you; no trouble at all," responded the stranger, and
drawing a fountain-pen from his pocket he approached the register and
wrote upon the blank page. "I hope there is, nothing to see in your
town," he remarked, turning away. "I don't wish to see anything. I
merely desire to walk."

"Yer wish'll come true, I guess," said Hopper. "I've lived here over
twenty year an' I hain't seen noth'n' yet. But the walkin' is as good
as it is anywhere."

"Thank you. I shall return at six o'clock--for the omelet," and he
walked away with short, mincing steps that seemed to them all very
comical.

Three heads at once bent over the register, on which the stranger had I
written in clear, delicate characters: "Lysander Antonius Sinclair, B.
N., Boston, Mass."

"I wonder what the 'B. N.' stands for," said Mary Ann Hopper,
curiously.

"Bum Nerves, o' course," replied the landlord. "He's got 'em, sure
enough."

CHAPTER XXII
INGUA'S MOTHER

"And how do you like your grandfather? Is he good to you?" asked Mrs.
Scammel on Sunday forenoon, as she sat on the porch beside her small
daughter. Old Swallowtail did not usually go to his office on Sundays,
but kept his room at the cottage and wrote letters. To-day, however, he
had wandered down the path and disappeared, and Nan and Ingua were both
glad to see him go.

"No," answered the child to both questions.

"You don't like him?"

"How can I, when he jes' sets an' glares at me ev'ry time he comes into
the house--'cept when he complains I ain't doin' my work proper? It
were a sort o' mean trick o' yours, Marm, leavin' me here to slave fer
that ol' man while you was off in the cities, havin' a good time."

"Yes," said Nan, "I was frolicking with starvation until I got a job,
and it was the sort of job that wouldn't allow having a child around.
But since I've been making money I've sent Dad five dollars every week,
for your clothes and board."

"You have?"

"Every week."

"Ten cents a week would pay for all the grub he gives me, an' there
ain't a beggar in the county that sports the rags an' tatters I does.
That new dress I had on las' night was the first thing in clothes he's
bought me for a year, a