HE'S happy enough. He's a better behaved and more
reputable member of society now than he ever was before.

"Why, he was a drunkard and perhaps worse. Are you going to set him
loose again to roar and to devour?"

"He may reform," said poor Anne, beset by foe without and traitor
within.

"Reform your grandmother!" retorted Miss Cornelia. "Dick Moore got the
injuries that left him as he is in a drunken brawl. He DESERVES his
fate. It was sent on him for a punishment. I don't believe the doctor
has any business to tamper with the visitations of God."

"Nobody knows how Dick was hurt, Miss Cornelia. It may not have been
in a drunken brawl at all. He may have been waylaid and robbed."

"Pigs MAY whistle, but they've poor mouths for it," said Miss Cornelia.
"Well, the gist of what you tell me is that the thing is settled and
there's no use in talking. If that's so I'll hold my tongue. I don't
propose to wear MY teeth out gnawing files. When a thing has to be I
give in to it. But I like to make mighty sure first that it HAS to be.
Now, I'll devote MY energies to comforting and sustaining Leslie. And
after all," added Miss Cornelia, brightening up hopefully, "perhaps
nothing can be done for Dick."

CHAPTER 31

THE TRUTH MAKES FREE

Leslie, having once made up her mind what to do, proceeded to do it
with characteristic resolution and speed. House-cleaning must be
finished with first, whatever issues of life and death might await
beyond. The gray house up the brook was put into flawless order and
cleanliness, with Miss Cornelia's ready assistance. Miss Cornelia,
having said her say to Anne, and later on to Gilbert and Captain
Jim--sparing neither of them, let it be assured--never spoke of the
matter to Leslie. She accepted the fact of Dick's operation, referred
to it when necessary in a business-like way, and ignored it when it was
not. Leslie never attempted to discuss it. She was very cold and
quiet during these beautiful spring days. She seldom visited Anne, and
though she was invariably courteous and friendly, that very courtesy
was as an icy barrier between her and the people of the little house.
The old jokes and laughter and chumminess of common things could not
reach her over it. Anne refused to feel hurt. She knew that Leslie
was in the grip of a hideous dread--a dread that wrapped her away from
all little glimpses of happiness and hours of pleasure. When one great
passion seizes po