aintance and the one person in
Denboro who came nearest to being my friend.

But George was busy in the directors' room, and, after waiting a few
moments in conversation with Henry Small, the bookkeeper, I gave it up
and walked home, across the fields this time; I had no desire to meet
more automobilists.

Dorinda had finished dusting the dining room and was busy upstairs.
I could hear the swish-swish of her broom overhead. I opened the door
leading to Mother's bedroom and entered, closing the door behind me.

The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room
was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my
step and recognized it.

"Is that you, Boy?" she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of
thirty-one, Mother would have called me "Boy" just the same.

"Yes, Mother," I said.

"Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it."

Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was that
the shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the bay, nor the
blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her face, or the green
grass beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of the outside world were
those which she got on cloudy or stormy days when the shades were raised
a few inches and, turning her head on the pillow, she could see beneath
them. For six years she had been helpless and bedridden in that little
room. But she never complained.

I told her that I had been uptown for a walk.

"Did you meet any one?" she asked.

I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I said
nothing of my encounter with the motor car.

"Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to sit
with you this afternoon," I said. "Provided she didn't have anything
else to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see her, of course."

She smiled. "Why not?" she asked. "Matilda is a little tiresome at
times, but she means well."

"Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry
himself. That woman will talk you to death."

"Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home,
I'm afraid."

"Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the Captain
had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be thinking of
buying some of our property."

I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint
concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said
thou