things."

She paused. Jed, looking up, caught her eye. To his surprise she
colored and seemed slightly confused.

"He had not said anything before," she went on rather hurriedly,
"because he thought I would feel so terribly to have him do it. So
I should, and so I do, of course--in one way, but in another I am
glad. Glad, and very proud."

"Sartin. He'll make us all proud of him, or I miss my guess. And,
as for the rest of it, the big question that counts most of all to
him, I hope--yes, I think that's comin' out all right, too. Ruth,"
he added, "you remember what I told you about Sam's talk with me
that afternoon when he came back from Wapatomac. If Maud cares for
him as much as all that she ain't goin' to throw him over on
account of what happened in Middleford."

"No--no, not if she really cares. But does she care--enough?"

"I hope so. I guess so. But if she doesn't it's better for him to
know it, and know it now. . . . Dear, dear!" he added, "how I do
fire off opinions, don't I? A body'd think I was loaded up with
wisdom same as one of those machine guns is with cartridges. About
all I'm loaded with is blanks, I cal'late."

She was not paying attention to this outburst, but, standing with
one hand upon the latch of the kitchen door, she seemed to be
thinking deeply.

"I think you are right," she said slowly. "Yes, I think you are
right. It IS better to know. . . . Jed, suppose--suppose you
cared for some one, would the fact that her brother had been in
prison make any difference in--in your feeling?"

Jed actually staggered. She was not looking at him, nor did she
look at him now.

"Eh?" he cried. "Why--why, Ruth, what--what--?"

She smiled faintly. "And that was a foolish question, too," she
said. "Foolish to ask you, of all men. . . . Well, I must go on
and get Babbie's breakfast. Poor child, she is going to miss her
Uncle Charlie. We shall all miss him. . . . But there, I promised
him I would be brave. Good morning, Jed."

"But--but, Ruth, what-what--?"

She had not heard him. The door closed. Jed stood staring at it
for some minutes. Then he crossed the lawn to his own little
kitchen. The performances he went through during the next hour
would have confirmed the opinion of Mr. Bearse and his coterie that
"Shavings" Winslow was "next door to loony." He cooked a
breakfast, but how he cooked it or of what it consisted he could
not have told. The next day he found t