cience; his craft was one that took much for
granted that could not be reduced to fact. Standing at the door of the
little yellow house he had become a victim of suggestion. That
accounted for it. The mists were passing. He had not been such an ass,
after all.

"So! that is your old doctor's place down by the crossroads?" he said
with a genuine sense of relief.

"It was. Ole Doc died seven years back."

"What became of his son--you said he had a boy?" Northrup was
gathering the threads in his hands. Nothing must escape him; it was
all grist.

"Oh! Larry came off and on the scene. There are them as think ole Doc
didn't treat Larry fair and square. I don't know, but anyway, just
before ole Doc was struck with that stroke that finished him, Larry
came home and seemed to be forgiving enough, if there had been any
wrong done. He had considerable education; ole Doc had given him that
chance, but Larry drifted--allas was, and still is, a drifter. We all
stand pat for the feller on account of his father and Mary-Clare. It
was a blamed risky thing, though, Larry's marrying Mary-Clare! I allas
will hold to that!"

Once, when Northrup was a young boy, he had been shocked by
electricity. The memory of his experience often recurred to him in
moments of stress. He had been standing within a few yards of the tree
that had been shattered, and he had fallen unconscious. When he came
to, he was vividly aware of the slightest details of sight and sound
surrounding him. His senses seemed to have been quickened during the
lapse of time. He winced at the light; the flickering of leaves above
him hurt; the song of birds beat against his brain with sweet clamour,
and he vaguely wondered what had happened to him; where he had been?

In like manner Northrup, now, was aware of a painful keenness of his
senses. Heathcote looked large and his voice vibrated in the quiet
room; Aunt Polly seemed dwindling, physically, while something about
her--the light playing on her knitting needles and spectacles,
probably--radiated. The crackling logs were like claps of thunder.
Northrup pulled himself to an upright position as one does who resists
hypnotism.

"I'm afraid you're tiring Brace, brother."

Aunt Polly's voice, low, even, and calm, got into the confusion as a
soft breeze had, that day so long ago, and brought full consciousness
in its wake.

"On the other hand," Northrup gave a relieved laugh, "I am intensely
interested. You see, she loo