ou mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make you out
about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve and he hasn't
decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and he just laughed. He
said whatever you had in your sleeve was your affair and, if he was any
judge of character, it would stay there till you got ready to shake it
out. He always stood up for you, even before the Shore Lane business
happened. I think he likes you better than any one else in Denboro."

"Present company excepted, of course."

"Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be jealous.
Then," more seriously, "Roscoe, does it seem to you that George is
worried or troubled about something lately?"

I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the bank,
and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I concealed my
thoughts.

"The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't it?"
I asked. "I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for you."

There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have been
ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She looked at me
reproachfully.

"Good enough for me!" she exclaimed. "He! Sometimes I wonder if it is
right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was wrong. As if
something must happen to punish me for it."

I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was real
happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that Mabel
Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married her Victor,
in which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was in store for me?

Nellie did most of the talking thereafter; principally about George, and
why he did not come. At last she went in to see if Mother needed her,
and, twenty minutes later, when I looked into the bedroom, I saw that
she had fallen asleep on the couch. Mother, too, seemed to be sleeping,
and I left them thus.

It was almost eleven o'clock when the sound of carriage wheels in the
yard brought me to the window and then to the door. Doctor Quimby had
come at last and Taylor was with him. The doctor, in his mackintosh and
overshoes, was dry enough, but his companion was wet to the skin.

"Sorry I'm so late, Ros," said the doctor. "I was way up to Ebenezer
Cahoon's in West Denboro. There's a new edition of Ebenezer, made port
this morning, and I was a little bit concerned about the missus. She's
all right, though. How's your mothe