cradle's an awful dismal thing to have round.
Don't you?"

Patsy agreed, and a moment later unloaded the twins and the washing
for the child at her doorstep.

Soon after this she caught her first glimpse of the town she was
making. "If luck will only turn stage-manager," she thought, "and put
Billy Burgeman in the center of the scene--handy, why, I'll promise
not to murder my lines or play under."

It was not luck, however, but chance, still pulling the wires; and
accordingly he managed Patsy's entrance as he wished.

The town had one main street, like Lebanon, and in front of the
post-office in a two-seated car sat a familiar figure. There was the
Balmacaan coat and the round plush hat; and to Patsy, impulsive and
heart-strong, it sufficed. She ran nearly the length of the street in
her eagerness to reach him.

XI

AND CHANCE STAGES MELODRAMA INSTEAD OF COMEDY

"A brave day to ye!" A little bit of everything that made Patsy was
wrapped in the smile she gave the man in the Balmacaan coat standing
by the wheel-guard of the car before the town post-office, a hand on
the front seat. "Maybe ye're not knowing it, but it's a rare good day
for us both. If you'll only take me for a spin in your car I'll tell
you what brings me--and who I am--if you haven't that guessed
already."

Plainly the occupant of the coat and the car was too much taken by
surprise to guess. He simply stared; and by that stare conveyed a
heart-sinking impression to Patsy. She looked at the puffed eyes and
the grim, unyielding line of the mouth, and she wanted to run. It
took all the O'Connell stubbornness, coupled with the things Gregory
Jessup had told her about his friend, to keep her feet firm to the
sidewalk and her resolution.

"Maybe," she thought, "he's just taken on the look of a rascal
because he thinks the world has written him down one. That's often
the way with a man; and often it takes but a bit of kindness to
change it. If I could make him smile--now--"

Her next remark accomplished this, but it did not mend matters a
whit. Patsy's heart turned over disconsolately; and she was
safety-locking her wits to keep them from scattering when she made
her final plea.

"I'm not staying long, and I want to know you; there's something I
have to be saying before I go on my way. 'Twould be easiest if you'd
take me for a ride in your car; we could talk quieter there."

She tried to finish with a reasonably cheerful look, but it was