t, if a body grieves one moment he's sure to
laugh the next. And, uncle, I've such a lovely idea about a 'club' for
the mill folks. To take the place of one that--doesn't seem to help them
much. I believe you're the very man to arrange everything, and that you
were sent home just in time."

"Wh-e-w! A Daniel come to judgment? No, a faithful daughter of a brave,
unselfish woman. You'll never be Salome, little girl, but maybe you will
be an improvement even on her. All her good sense with a little
more--snap."

"Considerable more snap than wisdom, I fancy," laughed she, and sped
down the hill to join Gwendolyn for her walk millward.

CHAPTER XXV.

MYSTERIES AND MASTERIES.

"Sure, Mister Frederic, I'd be proud to show ye the cellar that's doin'
below. Would he mind comin' the now?"

"A 'cellar below' is surely in its proper place. I'll be delighted to
view it, Mistress Goodsoul."

"Alanna, it was ever yourself had a jest an' a twist of a body's words!
To my notion, it's a tidy job, but I sometimes misgives it's no all
right for the house."

"Then it surely should be looked after. Who's doing it for you?"

"That silly one I was tellin' you about. He's--he's--" The woman glanced
over her shoulder, as if she feared to be heard. This was a curious
circumstance in the case of one so frank as she, and her old friend
commented on it.

"Why so mysterious, Cleena? Secrets afoot? But it's after Christmas, not
before it."

"Come by."

He followed her gayly down the stairs into the one central cellar, and
from this slightly farther into another, being opened toward the side.
She carried a lighted candle in her hand, and pointed with pride to the
neatness of the work as far as it had proceeded.

"Nobody could ha' done it finer, eh?"

"It seems all right. The walls will have to be supported, of course,
though it looks a solid rock. Old Ingraham obeyed the Scripture
injunction in letter, if not in spirit. What does Cuthbert think of
this?"

"The same as of most things--nothin' at all. So long as he's his bit
pictures an' books to pore over, the very house might tumble about his
ears an' no heed. There's been no nerve frettin' nor crossness since the
mistress was called--not once. He's a saint the now. But it's aye good
ye're come home, Mister Fred."

"And it's good to hear you say so, old friend. Yet if it suits you just
as well, I'd prefer to have you say it up in the open. I'm not a lover
of dark cellars,