continued Ralph, huskily. "You little
wild bird, you've been in a cage all your life. I'm going to open the
door and set you free."

Miss Evelina tapped gently on the door, then entered, with a bowl of
broth for the invalid. She set it down on the table at the head of the
bed, and went out, as quietly as she had come.

"I'm going to feed you now," laughed Ralph, with a swift change of
mood, "and when I come to see you to-morrow, I'm going to bring you a
book."

"What kind of a hook?" asked Araminta, between spoonfuls.

"A novel--a really, truly novel."

"You mustn't!" she cried, frightened again. "You get burned if you
read novels."

"Some of them are pretty hot stuff, I'll admit," returned Ralph,
missing her meaning, "but, of course, I wouldn't give you that kind.
What sort of stories do you like best?"

"Daniel in the lions' den and about the ark. I've read all the Bible
twice to Aunt Hitty while she sewed, and most of the _Pilgrim's
Progress_, too. Don't ask me to read a novel, for I can't. It would
be wicked."

"All right--we won't call it a novel. It'll be just a story book. It
isn't wrong to read stories, is it?"

"No-o," said Araminta, doubtfully. "Aunt Hitty never said it was."

"I wouldn't have you do anything wrong, Araminta--you know that.
Good-bye, now, until to-morrow."

Beset by strange emotions, Doctor Ralph Dexter went home. Finding that
the carriage was not in use, he set forth alone upon his feline quest,
reflecting that Araminta herself was not much more than a little grey
kitten. Everywhere he went, he was regarded with suspicion. People
denied the possession of cats, even while cats were mewing in defiance
of the assertion. Bribes were offered, and sternly refused.

At last, ten miles from home, he found a maltese kitten its owner was
willing to part with, in consideration of three dollars and a solemn
promise that the cat was not to be hurt.

"It's for a little girl who is ill," he said. "I've promised her a
kitten."

"So your father's often said," responded the woman, "but someway, I
believe you."

On the way home, he pondered long before the hideous import of it came
to him. All at once, he knew.

XIII

The River Comes into its Own

"Father," asked Ralph, "who is Evelina Grey?"

Anthony Dexter started from his chair as though he had heard a pistol
shot, then settled back, forcing his features into mask-like calmness.
He waited a moment before spea