," said she, "and I want to tell
you first I don't blame you a bit. I know you told 'Zeke Pettengill that
the tip-over was all your carelessness, but Huldy says it ain't so. She
said she was driving, though you didn't want her to, and the accident
was all her fault. Now, I believe my daughter tells the truth, and the
Deacon thinks so too."

"Well, Mrs. Mason," said Quincy, "what your daughter says is partly
true, but I am still to blame for allowing her to drive a horse with
which she was not acquainted."

"That warn't the trouble, Mr. Sawyer," said Mrs. Mason. "Huldy told me
the whole truth. You said something to her about going away. She had
heard what the village gossips were saying. Huldy's got a high temper
and she was so mad that she got flustrated, and that's what caused all
the trouble. I like you, Mr. Sawyer, and Huldy likes you. She says you
have allus been a perfect gentleman, and the Deacon now is awful sorry
you are going, but I hope you will come and see us often while you stay
at Mason's Corner."

"I certainly shall, Mrs. Mason," replied Quincy. "How is Miss Mason?"

"Oh, she is fust rate," said the Deacon's wife. "That doctor from the
city fixed her arm all up in what he called a jacket, and that nurse
that you sent just seems to know what Huldy wants before she can ask for
it I hear them nurses are awful expensive, and I don't think she better
stay but a day or two longer."

"She can't leave till the surgeon comes from Boston and says she can
go," he remarked, thinking this was the easiest way to get out of it.
"May I see Miss Mason?" he added.

"Certainly," replied Mrs. Mason. "She is in the front chamber. We moved
her in there 'cause there is a fireplace in the room and the nurse
objected to the wood stove that Huldy had in her room. She said it was
either too hot or too cold, and that Huldy must have an even
temperature."

As Quincy entered the room Huldy looked up and a faint smile lighted her
face. Her usually rosy cheeks showed only a faint touch of pink. The
helpless left arm, in its plaster of paris jacket, rested on the outside
of the white quilt, the fingers on her little hand projecting beyond the
covering.

Quincy advanced to the bedside and took a vacant chair. The nurse was
sitting by the window. She glanced up at him and at Mrs. Mason, who
followed close behind him, but continued the reading of her book.

Quincy said lightly, as he reached over and took the right hand and gave