any consideration o' that sour-faced dragon, that I
go," Nancy flung back her reply in a somewhat scornful manner.

"I'll go now, but will see you there in the morning," Doctor Dodona
called, as he hastened away.

"So that's how the wind blows," Nancy muttered, thoughtfully, as she
watched him depart; then she laughed softly in spite of the bad news.

Mrs. Conors, growing very feeble, was garrulously comfortable before
the fire in Nancy McVeigh's kitchen. She was in a happy frame of mind,
as her worldly anxieties were now very much a dream of the past. Nancy
herself, with her strong, resolute face, her kindly eyes and tall gaunt
frame, enrobed in a plain, home-made black dress, was setting things to
rights in the home of James Piper. Her coming brought order, and a
fearless performance of the doctor's commands. She was a herald of
fresh hope, and carried into the gloomy house her sense of restful
security. Her sixty-five years of life, a portion of which was spent
as proprietress of a tavern, wherein the worst element of a rough
countryside disported itself, had given her nerves of steel, and yet
the chords to her heart were tuned to the finest feelings of sympathy.
Sophia Piper felt the glow of her presence as she lay tossing and
moaning in the first grips of the malady. The children cried less
frequently, and Willie's temperature lowered two points by the doctor's
thermometer after the first day's service of the new nurse. And yet
Nancy only went about doing the doctor's wishes and whispering to each
in her motherly way. Her confidence in herself seemed to exert a
pleasing influence with the sick ones, and then she was so strong. The
hours of night found her wakeful to the slightest noise, yet patient
with their fretful humors, and in the morning she came to them as fresh
as a new flower in spring.

Doctor Dodona noticed the change, and marvelled. He came morning and
evening, and each time sat a long while by Miss Sophia's bedside. He
was wondering why he had never guessed something long before, and he
did not suspect that Nancy read him like an open book. He had known
Sophia for years, had gone to the same school with her, had worked by
her side on committees of the charitable and religious organizations of
the county, and here he was on the verge of confirmed bachelorhood and
only learning the rudiments of love.

"His heart's fair breakin' fer her," was Nancy's muttered comment.

Then came the long