e nodded
slowly.

"I see," he said. "Yes, yes, I see. . . . Hum."

"Of course, any one must see. And to go away, to some city or town
where we are not known--where could we go? What should we live on?
And yet we can't stay here; there is nothing for Charles to do."

"Um. . . . He was a--what did you say his trade was?"

"He was a bond broker, a kind of banker."

"Eh? . . . A kind of banker. . . . Sho! Did he work in a bank?"

"Why, yes, I told you he did, in Wisconsin, where he and I used to
live."

"Hum. . . . Pretty smart at it, too, seems to me you said he was?"

"Yes, very capable indeed."

"I want to know. . . . Hum. . . . Sho!"

He muttered one or two more disjointed exclamations and then ceased
to speak altogether, staring abstractedly at a crack in the floor.
All at once he began to hum a hymn. Mrs. Armstrong, whose nerves
were close to the breaking point, lost patience.

"Good morning, Mr. Winslow," she said, and opened the door to the
outer shop. This time Jed did not detain her. Instead he stared
dreamily at the floor, apparently quite unconscious of her or his
surroundings.

"Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, yes, good mornin',--good mornin'. . . .
Hum. . . .

'There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged de de de de
De de di dew dum de.'"

His visitor closed the door. Jed still sat there gazing at vacancy
and droning, dolefully.

CHAPTER XI

For nearly an hour he sat there, scarcely changing his position,
and only varying his musical program by whistling hymns instead of
singing them. Once, hearing a step in the yard, he looked through
the window and saw Gabriel Bearse walking toward the gate from the
direction of the shop door instead of in the opposite direction.
Evidently he had at first intended to call and then had changed his
mind. Mr. Winslow was duly grateful to whoever or whatever had
inspired the change. He had no desire to receive a visit from
"Gab" Bearse, at this time least of all.

Later on he heard another step, and, again glancing through the
window, saw Seth Wingate, the vegetable and fruit peddler, walking
from the door to the gate, just as Mr. Bearse had done. Apparently
Seth had changed his mind also. Jed thought this rather odd, but
again he was grateful. He was thinking hard and was quite willing
not to be disturbed.

But the disturbing came ten minutes after Mr. Wingate's depa