father?"

It was characteristic of him, too, that he should momentarily drop the
conversation, unravel the ball of telegrams, read one, crush them once
more,--a process that seemed to give him relief. He glanced at his
daughter--she had not moved. Whatever Mr. Flint's original character
may have been in his long-forgotten youth on the wind-swept hill farm
in Truro, his methods of attack lacked directness now; perhaps a long
business and political experience were responsible for this trait.

"Your mother didn't come down to dinner, I suppose."

"No," said Victoria.

"Simpson tells me the young bull got loose and cut himself badly. He says
it's the fault of the Eben Fitch you got me to hire."

"I don't believe it was Eben's fault--Simpson doesn't like him,"
Victoria replied.

"Simpson tells me Fitch drinks."

"Let a man get a bad name," said Victoria, "and Simpson will take care
that he doesn't lose it." The unexpected necessity of defending one of
her proteges aroused her. "I've made it a point to see Eben every day
for the last three months, and he hasn't touched a drop. He's one of the
best workers we have on the place."

"I've got too much on my mind to put up with that kind of thing," said
Mr. Flint, "and I won't be worried here on the place. I can get capable
men to tend cattle, at least. I have to put up with political rascals
who rob and deceive me as soon as my back is turned, I have to put up
with inefficiency and senility, but I won't have it at home."

"Fitch will be transferred to the gardener if you think best," she said.

It suddenly occurred to Victoria, in the light of a new discovery, that
in the past her father's irritability had not extended to her. And
this discovery, she knew, ought to have some significance, but she felt
unaccountably indifferent to it. Mr. Flint walked to a window at the far
end of the room and flung apart the tightly closed curtains before it.

"I never can get used to this new-fangled way of shutting everything up
tight," he declared. "When I lived in Centre Street, I used to read with
the curtains up every night, and nobody ever shot me." He stood looking
out at the starlight for awhile, and turned and faced her again.

"I haven't seen much of you this summer, Victoria," he remarked.

"I'm sorry, father. You know I always like to walk with you every day
you are here." He had aroused her sufficiently to have a distinct sense
that this was not the time to refer to t