went up to her kinsman's lips. It was a habit of hers,
sometimes playfully sometimes earnestly used, to ward off anything she
did not wish another to say to her, and she had done it before she
thought; but having so done she would not withdraw her silent protest.
This man should never say, nor would she ever hear, a word against her
father. Of that she was determined, even though she must be rude to
prevent.

For a moment Archibald Wingate resented the girl's correction. Then, as
her hand dropped to her side and her gaze to the ground, he spoke:--

"You are right. I had no business to so speak. I honor you for your
filial loyalty and--Come into the house. I have something I wish to
discuss with you. So you want to thank me for taking care of Balaam, do
you? You may feel differently after you have heard what I have to say.
Oh, you did give me a twinge, I tell you!"

"Would it relieve the pain if I bathed the foot for you? Or is there
anybody else to do it?"

"Would you do that for _me_?"

"Certainly."

"Ring that bell."

Amy obeyed. It was the familiar one which summoned, or had summoned,
Cleena from her kitchen.

A man answered the call.

"Marshall, have a foot-bath brought in here. This young lady is going to
dress my foot for me. For once there'll be no blundering heavy-handed
servant to hurt me."

Over and over and over Amy washed and soothed the red, misshapen foot.
The repugnance she had felt to touching it had all vanished when she saw
how acute must have been the old man's suffering and his now evident
relief.

"I thought you made a big fuss. Now I don't see how you walk about at
all."

"I walk on my will," answered he, grimly. "You're a good girl; yes, you
are. You're a real Kaye. Our women were all good nurses and
tender-handed. It's a pity--such a pity!"

Amy thought the prodigious sigh that moved his mighty breast was for
his own distress, and echoed his regret sincerely. "Yes; it is a pity.
It seems to me it should be cured. I wish it could."

"So do I. Say, little woman, suppose you and I try to cure it."

Amy looked up. She had been speaking simply of his disease. She now saw
that he had not been thinking of that at all. For the moment, while she
so gently manipulated the swollen ankle and bound it with the lotions
Marshall handed her, he had been quite comfortable, and the keen twinkle
in his eye set her thinking. Was it the family feud he wished might be
healed? He, who was the very