I
consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here,
drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and
see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was
alive enough this morning."

"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to
tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here.
Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!"

"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious
pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by,
little woman!"

"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think--"

"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!"

Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house--a long
rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of
many things.

The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with
Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They
rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at
each other, handkerchief in hand.

Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied
rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique
richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence--was
it the only presence?--of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had
recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only
when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble
hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice.

"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I
never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in
this minute."

"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age,
Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy,
certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I
told him to do it!"

"You--oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits _this_
time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree--if the Lord
ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor
Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin'
distracted."

"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank
you, and I mean to live to a hundred."

"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the t