ucinda fled out into the open again. Her footprints of the time before
were little oblong ponds now and she laid out a new course parallel to
their splashes. She found Joshua sponging the dasher.

"She wants you to go straight out again."

Joshua flung the sponge into the pail.

"Then I'll go straight out again," he said, moving toward the horse's
head.

"You're to bring Mr. Stebbins whether he can come or not."

"He'll come," said Joshua; and then he backed the horse so suddenly that
the buggy wheel nearly went over Lucinda.

"She says this is an awful day--" began Lucinda.

Joshua got into the buggy and tucked the rubber blanket around himself.

"She says--"

Joshua drove out of the barn and away.

Lucinda went slowly back to the house. Aunt Mary had ceased to glare at
the letter and was now glaring at the rain instead.

"Lucinda," she said "I'll thank you not to ever mention my nephew to me
again. I've took a vow to never speak his name again myself. By no
means--not at all--never."

"Which nephew?" shrieked Lucinda.

Aunt Mary's eyes snapped.

"Jack!" she said, with an accent that seemed to split the short word in
two.

After a little she spoke again.

"Lucinda, it's all been owin' to the city an' this last is all city. 'F I
cared a rap what happened to him after this I'd never let him go near a
place over two thousand again as long as he lived. It's no use tryin' to
explain things to you, Lucinda, because it never has been any use an'
never will be--an' anyway, I'm done with it all. I sh'll want you for a
witness when I'm through with Mr. Stebbins, and then you can get some
marmalade out for tea an' we'll all live in peace hereafter."

Joshua returned with Mr. Stebbins and the latter gentleman went to work
with a will and willed Jack out of Aunt Mary's. Later Joshua took him home
again. Lucinda got the marmalade out of the cellar and Aunt Mary had it
with her tea. It was a bitter tea--unsugared indeed--and the days that
followed matched.

CHAPTER TEN - THE WOES OF THE DISINHERITED.

It was some days later on in the world's history that Holloway was calling
on Bertha Rosscott.

They were sitting in that comfortable library previously referred to and
were sweetly unaware that any untoward series of incidents had ever led to
an invasion of their privacy.

Holloway lay well back in a sleepy-hollow chair and looked indolently,
lazily handsome; his hostess was up on--well up on the di