a long time"--the polished slab was gleaming faintly from an
errant ray of sunshine that came through a dim, high-set hall
window--"that I perhaps know a little more about him." She paused
after this introduction, and having thus committed herself, plunged
in. "Why don't you give Joe the chance he really wants? You have a lot
of land here that is not being developed at all. Give Joe the chance
to work it out--some of it, at least, on shares." She paused,
breathless, and looked up timidly to see how her presumption fared.

A slow, fatuous smile spread over Mrs. Mosby's face. Mary Louise
watched it break--watched it play for a moment about her lips like a
shaft of winter sunshine. Then she spoke, shaking her head in
reminiscence:

"I'd thought of that, myself. In fact, I'd spoken of it to Joseph. But
he had other ideas. Many's the time I would have welcomed having
someone who really cared, on whom I could depend. It's been a
difficult time for me, my dear. Brother's so feeble. I couldn't call
on him. No. Joseph doesn't care for farming. You're mistaken there.
He's got an errant streak in him, like his father, I'm afraid." She
sighed, and the sibilance of it echoed with a strange lingering note
between those high gray walls. "Besides--though I've not let it be
generally known--I've sold the place--to a Mr. Walcott of New York.
He's very wealthy, I believe. He's taking it over the first of the
year. I'm just not strong enough to hold on any longer."

Mary Louise did not look up. The sunlight on the marble slab of the
hall tree faded slowly away.

"Don't you want to go up and see him, my dear?" Mrs. Mosby said at
length.

She started. "No," she replied. "I must be getting on. I've so many
things to do. Some other time, may I? Perhaps this afternoon." She
rose to her feet and walked slowly to the door. She opened it and
walked through, out on to the wide front porch, her thoughts in a
turmoil. Rising above everything was an inexplicable conviction that
Joe was closely akin to herself; in all the confusion of the world's
ways, a kindred creature.

She turned. Mrs. Mosby was standing in the open doorway watching her,
on her face a set, wistful smile, that was as hard as stone. They
exchanged good-byes and then the door slowly closed with its soft
sucking noise and she found herself in the graying light of a
gathering storm....

It was not until late the following afternoon that she found time
again to visit the Mosby