y when they--help out----"

There was a fine dignity about him. He was a rough farmer in overalls,
but Dalton would never match the simple grace of his fine gesture of
hospitality.

The Major, who had been silent, now spoke up. "You are having more than
your share of trouble, Mr. Waterman. First your wife, and now your
guest."

"Oh, I am, I am," said Oscar, brokenly. "I don't see what I've done to
deserve it."

He was a pathetic figure. Whatever else he lacked, he loved his wife. If
she died--he felt that he could not bear it. For the first time in his
life Oscar faced a situation in which money did not count. He could not
buy off Death--all the money in the world would not hold back for one
moment the shadow of the Dark Angel from his wife's door.

III

The window of the east room looked out on the old orchard. There was a
screened door which opened upon a porch and a stretch of lawn beyond
which was the dairy.

Within the room there was a wide white bed, and a mahogany dresser with
a scarf with crocheted trimming, above the dresser was an old steel
engraving of Samson destroying the temple. The floor was spotless, a
soft breeze shook the curtains. Madge, relieved from pain and propped on
her pillows, watched a mother cat who with her kittens sat just outside
the door.

She was a gray cat with white paws and breast, not fat at the moment but
with a comfortable well-fed look. She alternately washed herself and
washed her offspring. There were four of them, a rollicking lot not easy
to keep in order.

"Aren't they--ripping?" Madge said to Mary.

"They always come up on the step about this time in the afternoon; they
are waiting for the men to bring the milk to the dairy."

A little later Madge saw the men coming--two of them, with the foaming
pails. The mother cat rose and went to meet them. Her tail was straight
up, and the kittens danced after her.

"They will get a big dish of it, and then they will go around to the
kitchen door to wait for supper and the table scraps. And after that
Bessie will coax the kittens out to the barn and go hunting for the
night."

"Is that her name--Bessie?"

"Yes, there has always been a Bessie-cat here. And we cling to old
customs."

"I like old customs," said Madge, "and old houses."

After a little she asked, "Who makes the butter?"

"I do. It's great fun."

"Oh, when I am well, may I help?"

"You----?" Mary came over and stood looking down at her; "of cour