rsation,
since Mrs. Willoughby liked to apply that term to the encounter, had
induced in his stepmother, as far as he could see, a somewhat superior
frame of mind.

"Well, I hope it'll do her as much good as it did me," Bessie sighed,
devoutly; "and now that I've let off steam I'll go 'round and make it
up. Now go and see Len. He'll want to talk to you."

Thor intimated that he would be glad of a minute with Lois, to which
Mrs. Willoughby replied that Lois was having one of her fits of
bird-craze. She was in the kitchen at that minute getting suet with
which to go up into the woods and feed the chickadees. Good Lord! there
had been chickadees since the world began, and they had lived through
the winter somehow. Bessie had no patience with what she called
"nature-fads," but it was as easy to talk sense into a chickadee itself
as to keep Lois from going into the woods with two or three pounds of
suet after every snow-storm. She undertook, however, to delay her
daughter's departure on this errand till warning had been given to Thor.

Up-stairs Thor found Len sitting in his big arm-chair, clad in a
gorgeous dressing-gown. He was idle, stupefied, and woebegone. With his
bushy, snow-white hair and beard, his puffy cheeks, his sagging mouth,
and his clumsy bulk he produced an effect half spectral and half
fleshly, but quite pathetically ludicrous. His hand trembled violently
as he held it toward his visitor.

"Not well to-day, Thor," he complained. "Ought to be back in bed. Any
other man wouldn't have got up. Always had too much energy. Awful blow,
Thor, awful blow. Never could have believed it of your father. But I'm
not downed yet. Go to work and make another fortune. That's what I'll
do."

Thor sympathized with his friend's intentions, and, having slipped
down-stairs again, found Lois in the hall, a basket containing a varied
assortment of bird-foods on her arm.

When she had given him permission to accompany her, they took their way
up Willoughby's Lane, whence it was possible to pass into the woodland
stretches of the hillside. The day was clear and cold, with just enough
wind to wake the aeolian harp of the forest into sound. Once in the
woods, they advanced warily. "Listen to the red-polls," Lois whispered.

She paused, leaning forward, her face alight. There was nothing visible;
but a low, continuous warble, interspersed with a sort of liquid rattle,
struck the ear. Taking a bunch of millet stalks from her bask