to her and
her eyes were fairly popping out of her head.

"I feel as though I'm going crazy, Minnie!" she whispered, "but the only
things that are gone are my letters from Mr. Jones, and--my black woolen
tights!"

CHAPTER XIX

NO MARRIAGE IN HEAVEN

I slept late the next morning, and when I'd had breakfast and waded to
the spring-house it was nearly nine. It was still snowing, and no papers
or mail had got through, although the wires were still in fair working
order.

As I floundered out I thought I saw somebody slink around the corner of
the spring-house, but when I got there nobody was in sight. I was on my
knees in front of the fireplace, raking out the fire, when I heard the
door close behind me, and when I turned, there stood Mr. Dick, muffled
to the neck, with his hat almost over his face.

"What the deuce kept you so late this morning?" he demanded, in a sulky
voice, and limping over to a table he drew a package out of his pocket
and slammed it on the table.

"I was up half the night, as usual," I said, rising. "You oughtn't to be
here, Mr. Dick!"

He caught hold of the rail around the spring, and hobbling about,
dropped into a chair with a groan.

"For two cents," he declared, "I'd chop a hole in the ice pond and drown
myself. There's no marriage in Heaven."

"That's no argument for the other place," I answered, and stopped,
staring. He was pulling something out of his overcoat pocket, an inch at
a time.

"For God's sake, Minnie," he exclaimed, "return this--this garment
to--whomever it belongs to!"

He handed it to me, and it was Miss Cobb's black tights! I stood and
stared.

"And then," he went on, reaching for the package on the table, "when
you've done that, return to 'Binkie' these letters from her Jonesie."

He took the newspaper off the bundle then, and I saw it was wrapped with
a lavender ribbon. I sat down and gazed at him, fascinated. He was the
saddest-eyed piece of remorse I'd seen for a long time.

"And when you've got your breath back, Minnie," he said feebly, "and
your strength, would you mind taking the floor mop and hitting me a
few cracks? Only not on the right leg, Minnie--not on the right leg. I
landed on it last night; it's twisted like a pretzel."

"Don't stand and stare," he continued irritably, when I didn't make
a move, "at least get that--that infernal black garment out of sight.
Cover it with the newspaper. And if you don't believe that a sweet-faced
you