payin' for twice over and again to that."

"And a very good thing, too," retorted Peggy, who was just coming off
duty, and casting an eye toward the window to see where Logan was. He
was exactly where she wished, waiting with what, for him, was
eagerness, to go off through the woods with her.

"I suppose, now ye've a man trailin' ye, there's nothin' ye don't
know," said her mother. "And him a heretic, if not a heathen itself.
I've only to say to ye, keep yer own steps clean, Peggy."

"He is a heathen--he doesn't believe a blessed thing; he said so
himself!" said Peggy with what sounded like triumph. "The more reason
for me to convert him, poor dear! Empty things are easier filled than
full ones. If he was like them in there, with a religion of his own, I
wouldn't have a show. But as it is, I have my hopes."

"Oh, it's converting him you are! Tell that to the pigs!" said her
mother scornfully. "And now go on; I suppose you're taking a prayer
book and a rosary along with you in that picnic basket."

"No," said Peggy reluctantly. "I'm softening his heart first."

She had the grace to giggle a little as she said it, and the O'Mara
sense of humor rode triumphant over both of them then, and they parted,
laughing. Francis, entering on one of his frequent flying trips from
work to see how Marjorie was, felt as if they were heartless.

Mrs. O'Mara, at the sight of his tired, unhappy young face, sobered
down with one of her quick Irish transitions.

"Ah, sure now it's the best of news. The doctor's been, and he says
she's better. So it won't be necessary to send after the old aunt or
cousin or whatever, that ye say she wasn't crazy over. Come in an' see
her."

Francis, a new hope in his heart, tiptoed into the little brown bedroom
where Marjorie lay. It was too much to hope that she would know him.
She had been either delirious or asleep--under narcotics--through the
days of her fever. And once or twice when she had spoken rationally,
it had never been Francis who had happened to be near at the time.

She lay quite quietly, with her eyes shut, and her long lashes trailing
on her cheeks. When Francis came in she opened her eyes as if it was a
trouble to make that much effort. She was very weak. But she looked
at him intelligently, and even lifted one hand a little from the
coverlet, as if she wanted to be polite and welcome him. He had been
warned not to make any fuss or say anything exciting, if this