here are Shelby's. You must
be very proud of Mr. Shelby. Is he there, perhaps?"

"That's him, standing on the upper porch there, waving his hat,"
Pettibone mumbled.

The President waved his hat at Shelby.

"And the handsome lady is his wife, perhaps?"

"Yes, that's Mrs. Shelby," mumbled Spate. "She was Miss Carew. Used to
teach school here."

Phoebe Shelby was clinging to her husband's side. There were tears in
her eyes and her hands squeezed mute messages upon his arm, for she knew
that his many-wounded heart was now more bitterly hurt than in all his
knowledge of Wakefield. He was a prisoner in disgrace gazing through the
bars at a festival.

He never knew that the President suggested stopping a moment to
congratulate him, and that it was his own old taskmaster Spate who
ventured to say that the President could meet him later. Spate could
rise to an emergency; the other committeemen thanked him with their
eyes.

As the carriage left the border of the Shelby place the President turned
his head to stare, for it was beautiful, ambitiously beautiful. And
something in the silent attitude of the owner and his wife struck a
deeper note in the noisy, gaudy welcome of the other citizens.

"Tell me about this Mr. Shelby," said the President.

Looks were exchanged among the committee. All disliked the task, but
finally Spate broke the silence.

"Well, Mr. President, Shelby is a kind of eccentric man. Some folks say
he's cracked. Used to drive a delivery-wagon for me. Ran away and tried
his hand at nearly everything. Finally, him and his two brothers
invented a kind of washing-powder. It was like a lot of others, but they
knew how to push it. Borrowed money to advertise it big. Got it started
till they couldn't have stopped it if they'd tried. Shelby decided to
come back here and establish a branch factory. That tall chimney is it.
No smoke comin' out of it to-day. He gave all the hands a holiday in
your honor, Mr. President."

The President said: "Well, that's mighty nice of him. So he's come back
to beautify his old home, eh? That's splendid--a fine spirit. Too many
of us, I'm afraid, forget the old places when ambition carries us away
into new scenes. Mr. Shelby must be very popular here."

There was a silence. Mr. Pettibone was too honest, or too something, to
let the matter pass.

"Well, I can't say as to that, Mr. President. Shelby's queer. He's very
pushing. You can't drive people more 'n so fast. Shelby