s. He followed a delicious odor of wood smoke and the sound
of voices, to the barnyard, and here found the lady of the house, with
her inevitable accompaniment of interested children. Sidney was
managing an immense brush fire with a long pole; her gingham skirt
pinned back trimly over a striped petticoat, her cheeks flushed, her
hair riotous under a gipsy hat.

At Barry's first word she dropped her pole, her whole face grew
radiant, and she came toward him holding out both her hands.

"Barry!" she said eagerly, her eyes trying to read his face, "how glad
I am you've come! We didn't know how to reach you. You've heard, of
course--! You've seen--?"

"The poor old MAIL? Yes, I'm just from there," he said soberly. "Can we
talk?"

"As long as you like," she answered briskly. And after some directions
to the children, she led him to the little garden seat below the side
porch, and they sat down. "Barry, you look tired," she said then. "Do
you know, I don't know where you've been all these days, or what you
went for? Was it to San Francisco?"

"San Francisco, yes," he assented, "I didn't dream I'd be there so
long." He rubbed his forehead with a weary hand. "I'll tell you all
about it presently," he said. "I had a letter from my wife's mother
that worried me, and I started off at half-cock, I got worrying--but of
course I should have written you--"

"Don't bother about that now, if it distresses you," she said quickly
and sympathetically. "Any time will do for that. I--I knew it was
something serious," she went on, relief in her voice, "or you wouldn't
have simply disappeared that way! I--I said so. Barry, are you hungry?"

He tried to laugh at the maternal attitude that was never long absent
in her, but the tears came into his eyes instead. After all the strain
and sleeplessness and despondency, it was too poignantly sweet to find
her so simply cheering and trustful, in her gipsy dress, with the
brightening sunlight and the sweet old garden about her. Barry could
have dropped on his knees to bury his face in her skirts, and feel the
motherly hands on his hair, but instead he admitted honestly to hunger
and fatigue.

Sidney vanished at once, and presently came back followed by her black
cook, both carrying a breakfast that Barry was to enjoy at once under
the rose vines. Sidney poured his coffee, and sat contentedly nibbling
toast while he fell upon the cold chicken and blackberries.

"Now," said her heartening voic