, Mr. Winslow. She has
been helping me with the packing."

Jed swallowed hard. "Packin'?" he repeated. "You've been packin'?
Then 'twas true, what Philander Hardy said about your goin' back to
Luretta's?"

The lady nodded. "Yes," she replied. "Our month here ends to-day.
Of course you knew that."

Jed sighed miserably. "Yes, ma'am," he said, "I knew it, but I
only just realized it, as you might say. I . . . Hum! . . .
Well . . ."

He turned away and walked slowly toward the kitchen door. Barbara
would have followed but her mother laid a detaining hand upon her
shoulder. On the threshold of the door between the dining-room and
kitchen Jed paused.

"Ma'am," he said, hesitatingly, "you--you don't cal'late there's
anything I can do to--to help, is there? Anything in the packin'
or movin' or anything like that?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Winslow. The packing was very simple."

"Er--yes, ma'am. . . . Yes, ma'am."

He stopped, seemed about to speak again, but evidently changed his
mind, for he opened the door and went out into the rain without
another word. Barbara, very much surprised and hurt, looked up
into her mother's face.

"Why, Mamma," she cried, "has--has he GONE? He didn't say good-by
to us or--or anything. He didn't even say he was sorry we were
going."

Mrs. Armstrong shook her head.

"I imagine that is because he isn't sorry, my dear," she replied.
"You must remember that Mr. Winslow didn't really wish to let any
one live in this house. We only came here by--well, by accident."

But Barbara was unconvinced.

"He ISN'T glad," she declared, stoutly. "He doesn't act that way
when he is glad about things. You see," she added, with the air of
a Mrs. Methusaleh, "Petunia and I know him better than you do,
Mamma; we've had more chances to get--to get acquainted."

Perhaps an hour later there was another knock at the kitchen door.
Mrs. Armstrong, when she opened it, found her landlord standing
there, one of his largest windmills--a toy at least three feet
high--in his arms. He bore it into the kitchen and stood it in the
middle of the floor, holding the mammoth thing, its peaked roof
high above his head, and peering solemnly out between one of its
arms and its side.

"Why, Mr. Winslow!" exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong.

"Yes, ma'am," said Jed. "I--I fetched it for Babbie. I just kind
of thought maybe she'd like it."

Barbara clasped her hands.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, is it for me."