oulders,
her golden head tipped back on her full throat. Over her, like a swaying
flower, a tiny parasol reared on a long tasselled stalk, held in
Killigrew's hand as he lounged beside her. He let his eyes run over her
now, tipping the parasol to one side so that at his pleasure the late
sunlight should touch her hair and her still flawless skin. She knew she
could stand the test, and stayed a moment before motioning him to tip
the parasol back again.

"It seems to me Archelaus is going a lot to the mill," observed
Killigrew idly, and more for the purpose of saying something than
because he really thought so. "I ran into him there the other day when I
was doing my sketch of it."

A short hush, pregnant with thought, followed on his words. To Boase and
Vassie--those two so different beings--came the swift reflection "That
would not be at all a bad thing. It would remove a danger."

Killigrew was interested, as an onlooker, in the idea of the alliance
his own words had suggested. Ishmael felt an irrational little pang.
Phoebe's smiles, her little friendliness, had always belonged to
him--Archelaus would crush them as big fingers rub the powder off a
butterfly's wings.... If he and Archelaus had been more truly brothers
it would have been a very nice arrangement ... little Phoebe would
make a sweeter sister in some ways than the imperious Vassie....

"This puppy is for Phoebe," cried Vassie, breaking into a hurried
speech; "it's been promised her a long time. She's so fond of pets."

This was true. Phoebe's maternal instincts made her love to have a
soft, helpless little lamb or calf dependent on her; but it seemed her
instinct was oddly animal in quality, for when the creature on which she
had lavished so much care grew to sturdiness she saw it go to the
butcher's knife with unimpaired cheerfulness and turned her attentions
to the next weakling. It was a standing joke against Phoebe that she
called all her hens by name and nursed them from the egg up, only to
inform you brightly at some meal that it was Henrietta, or Garibaldi, or
whatever luckless bird it might be, that you were devouring.

"If you like I'll take that puppy over to the mill now, if you'll see
Wanda doesn't follow to bring it back," observed Ishmael, getting to his
feet, "and then perhaps I can find out something about this bush-beating
scare. If Archelaus is there--"

"Be careful, Ishmael," said the Parson quietly.

"Oh, I'll keep my temper, or