-just possible, of course--was what Mrs. Darby had to
take back to "Eden" to serve up to Eugene Wellington when he should
return from his brief errand up in the Winnowoc country. And as that was
what Mrs. Darby wished to accomplish, her day's journey to the city was
a success.

Only, that Winnowoc local was uncomfortably hot and crowded. Her trusty
chauffeur had resigned his position on the day after Cornelius was
buried, and Mrs. Darby was timid about the bluff road, anyhow. If only
Jerry had been here to drive for her! With all Jerry's dash and slash,
she was a fearless driver and always put the car exactly where she
wanted it to be. There was some satisfaction in having a hand like
Jerry's on the steering-wheel. So, pleased as to one horn of her
dilemma, but tired and perspiring, Mrs. Darby came home determined more
than ever to bring about her other purpose--to have Jerry Swaim in her
home, because she, Jerusha Darby, wanted her there.

Jerry always filled the place with interest. And Jerry was gone,
actually gone, bag and baggage. She had cleared out that morning early
on a fool's errand to Kansas. What right had Jerry to go off to earn a
living when a living was here ready-made merely for her subjection to a
selfish old woman's wishes? Mrs. Darby did not think it in such words,
because she no more understood her own mind than that pretty girl with
her dark-blue eyes and wavy, gold-tinged hair understood her own mind.
One thing she did understand--Jerry must come back.

A week later Eugene Wellington dropped off the morning train running
down from Winnowoc. It was too early for the household to be astir, save
the early feeder of stock and milker of kine, the early
man-of-all-odd-jobs who looked after the fowls, and the early
maid-of-all-good-things-to-eat who would have big puffy biscuit for
breakfast, with tender fried chicken and gravy that would stand alone.
All the homey sounds of the early summer morning flitted out from the
"Eden" kitchen and barn-yard. But the misty stillness of dawn rested on
the "Eden" lawns, whose owner, with the others of the household, was not
yet awake.

At the rose-arbor the young artist paused to let the refreshing morning
zephyrs sweep across his face. He wondered if Jerry was awake yet. Ever
since he had left "Eden" the hope had been growing in him that she would
change her mind. After all, Aunt Jerry might be right about it. This was
too beautiful a house to throw aside for a