o. There was a young man with large brown eyes who
came and said he had been sent to tune the piano. He came on three
separate days, and he bent his ear over the keys in such a mournful way
that I knew he must have fallen in love with me. On the last day he
offered to tune my harp for a dollar extra, but I refused, and when I
asked him instead to tune Mother's mandoline he said he didn't know how.
Of course I told John nothing of all this.

Then there was Mr. McQueen, who came to the house several times to play
cribbage with John. He had been desperately in love with me years
before--at least I remember his taking me home from a hockey match once,
and what a struggle it was for him not to come into the parlour and see
Mother for a few minutes when I asked him; and, though he was married
now and with three children, I felt sure when he came to play cribbage
with John that it _meant_ something. He was very discreet and
honourable, and never betrayed himself for a moment, and I acted my
part as if there was nothing at all behind. But one night, when he came
over to play and John had had to go out, he refused to stay even for an
instant. He had got his overshoes off before I told him that John was
out, and asked him if he wouldn't come into the parlour and hear Mother
play the mandoline, but he just made one dive for his overshoes and was
gone. I knew that he didn't dare to trust himself.

Then presently a new trouble came. I began to suspect that John was
drinking. I don't mean for a moment that he was drunk, or that he was
openly cruel to me. But at times he seemed to act so queerly, and I
noticed that one night when by accident I left a bottle of raspberry
vinegar on the sideboard overnight, it was all gone in the morning. Two
or three times when McQueen and John were to play cribbage, John would
fetch home two or three bottles of bevo with him and they would sit
sipping all evening.

I think he was drinking bevo by himself, too, though I could never be
sure of it. At any rate he often seemed queer and restless in the
evenings, and instead of staying in his den he would wander all over the
house. Once we heard him--I mean Mother and I and two lady friends who
were with us that evening--quite late (after ten o'clock) apparently
moving about in the pantry. "John," I called, "is that you?" "Yes,
Minn," he answered, quietly enough, I admit. "What are you doing there?"
I asked. "Looking for something to eat," he said. "John