d away toward the study, quite at his ease, humming a tune and
casting sharp, appraising glances about him as though the thought of
ownership were already in his mind. The door beyond the hall closed
behind them.

"What a hateful man!" cried Janet, almost in tears. "Poor Cousin
Jasper! And we can't do anything to help him."

Oliver, equally miserable, stood at the window. The moon was coming up
behind the trees, a great red moon just past the full, misshapen and
lopsided, that seemed to be laughing at them. He stamped his foot in
angry impotence.

"And he doesn't seem to me even to believe in himself; it is as though
he were playing a part, just showing off." He pointed through the
window at the disgraceful cart and dejected old horse standing before
the wide white steps.

"I don't think he has to drive that wretched wagon at all. He just
does it to make Cousin Jasper ridiculous."

The session in the study was prolonged so late that in the end Janet
and Oliver abandoned their sleepy effort to wait until Anthony
Crawford should depart, and went dispiritedly upstairs to bed.

"I have made up my mind to one thing," said Oliver firmly, as they
reached the top of the stairs, "I am going to ask the Beeman what we
ought to do. I feel as though I had known him always and I am sure he
can help us."

"But ought we to tell him Cousin Jasper's secrets?" objected Janet
doubtfully, "and, by the way, what is his name? You never told me."

"Why--I don't know it," exclaimed Oliver in a tone of complete
astonishment. "I never even noticed that I didn't. It doesn't matter,
I will ask him to-morrow. And you understand, from the first minute he
speaks, that you can trust the Beeman."

He went away to his room where, so it seemed to him, he had been
asleep a long time before the rattle of wheels aroused him. He peered
drowsily through the window and saw the old white horse with its lean,
erect driver move slowly down toward the gate, long-shadowed and
unreal in the moonlight, fantastic omens of some unknown mischief that
was brewing.

Next morning, as he and Janet left the car beside the orchard wall and
climbed the grassy slope of the hill, Oliver's one misgiving was lest
the Beeman should not be there. But yes, as they came up the steep
path they heard voices and smelled the sharp, pleasant odor of wood
smoke drifting down toward them. The wind was high to-day, singing and
swooping about the hilltop, slamming the swinging door