" She
recalled the implied threat in a recent communication from Mr.
Washington Thompson regarding the return of his property, and the
thought crossed her mind that possibly he had invoked legal aid for its
recovery.

She was standing as she began to read. Half-way down the page she
uttered an exclamation and staggered to a chair. She finished the
letter, laid it down, took it up again and reread it. Then rising, she
busied herself with various tasks about the room, doing over several
things she had already completed and ignoring some obvious needs. This
accomplished, she read the letter for a third time and brought out her
sewing. After five minutes of desultory work, she folded the garment
and laid it away. For the next two hours she might have served as a
study of contemplation. Her chin upon her hands, her eyes musing, she
sat motionless, almost rigid, as the big clock ticked off the seconds.

Joel shuffled into the room on the stroke of twelve. "Mis' Thompson
says she'll likely go by sometime to-day or to-morrow and she'll stop
in."

Persis did not reply, and for the first time Joel noticed his sister's
unusual attitude. He looked at her and then at the clock.

"Ain't dinner ready?"

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner! What ails you? You act as if you'd never heard of such
a thing as meal-time."

"I didn't think it was time for dinner yet," Persis answered, rousing
herself. Again Joel inspected her sharply.

"Haven't you been sewing this morning?"

"No, I did start, but I didn't feel like keeping it up."

Joel's face expressed mingled concern and amazement. That Persis
should sit idle a morning from choice was extraordinary enough to be
alarming. "Don't you feel well?"

"Me? Oh, yes, I'm all right." Persis went into the next room and
began her preparations for the meal. It took her longer than usual.
Joel watched the clock with frowning vexation, but some quality
abnormal and vaguely disquieting in his sister's manner kept him from
putting into words the impression that a man who is kept waiting a full
hour for his dinner is hardly used.

His mood softened when at length appetizing odors diffusing themselves
through the house, indicated that the pot roast of day before yesterday
which under Persis' thrifty management had as many final appearances as
a _prima donna_, was soon to grace the table as an Irish stew. Joel
dearly loved that savory concoction, and though he was on his guard
against