you hear the first whip-poor-will's song!_"

Here was a splendid chance to let the new doctor hear her sing. As the
musical invitation came pouring through the Longs' parlor door, the
innocent cause of it stopped for an instant on the unsteady sidewalk,
overcome by the deluge of song. Then, full of alarm, he turned off the
street, and made his escape up the willow-bordered path that ran along
the edge of the mill-pond, where the sound of the waterfall, as it
poured in a silvery cascade beneath the bridge, alone broke the
silence. Looking back past the bridge, Gilbert caught a glimpse of the
valley, with its fairy windings, where he had met his first patient and
the princess in the milkmaid costume. The pond lay like a colored
mirror in its frame of feathery willows. As he advanced the trees
disappeared, and his footfall was muffled in the soft sawdust. The
sweet, clean scent of the newly sawn lumber mingled with the cool
breath of the water.

The big mill, so noisy and busy in the daytime, was silent and
deserted, except for the watchman. He was seated in the wide doorway
of the engine-room. Behind him, in the warm darkness, shone a red line
from beneath the furnace door. Gilbert had not seen him since his
illness, and was struck with the man's expression of utter dejection.

"Good-evening," said the young doctor cordially, stopping in his walk.

The man looked up with a curt response.

"I was just strolling about, viewing things," continued Gilbert. "You
are night watchman here now, I believe?"

"Yes."

"I hope you are feeling better?"

The man looked up into the speaker's face, and seemed to recognize him.
"You are the doctor?" he said, half inquiringly.

"Yes. I came to Elmbrook lately, like yourself. My name is
Allen--Gilbert Allen."

"Allen!" repeated the dark man. He arose, and gave the other a
searching look. "Are you the Gilbert Allen who saved the life of a man
once in Nelson Mills?"

"Yes," answered Gilbert, surprised; "that is, I helped to, somewhat.
Do you know----"

The man interrupted with a harsh laugh, such as had startled the
minister. It was as unmirthful as a cry of pain. "Yes, I know more
than you think. I know _you_, Gilbert Allen!" His voice was harsh
with scorn. "Many, many a time I've heard your name--spoken with the
highest praise--oh, the very highest. But you are like all the rest of
the world. You would let your best friend starve. Selfishness and
dish