AT THE SIGN OF THE 
 THREE BIRCHES
 
 SHE LOOKED OUT UPON THE LONELY ROAD. Page 50.
 
 AT THE SIGN OF THE 
 THREE BIRCHES 
 
 BY 
 
 AMY BROOKS 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE BY AUTHOR 
 
 BOSTON 
 LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
 
 Published, August, 1916 
 
 Copyright, 1916, 
 BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD Co. 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 AT THE SIGN OF THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 "HorwooD Perss 
 
 BERWICK & SMITH CO. 
 
 NORWOOD, MASS. 
 U. 8. A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE ARRIVAL 7 
 
 II FOR A YEAR AND A DAY 17 
 
 III THE FIRST NIGHT 23 
 
 IV A NEWSMONGER 32 
 
 V MAKING NEW FRIENDS 45 
 
 VI A CALLER AT " THE BIRCHES " 57 
 
 VII FROM A MAN'S VIEW-POINT 63 
 
 VIII WAVERING 70 
 
 IX CONFIDENCES 79 
 
 X IN THE MIDST OF A TEMPEST 87 
 
 XI PLEADING 96 
 
 XII ALONE WITH His THOUGHTS 101 
 
 XIII THE DEPARTURE 105 
 
 XIV HAUNTED 113 
 
 XV OPINION GRATIS 121 
 
 XVI FOR JACK'S SAKE 124 
 
 XVII A PROPHET AT THE DOOR 130 
 
 XVIII A REBUFF 136 
 
 XIX BUSYBODIES 142 
 
 XX FOOD FOR GOSSIP 151 
 
 XXI A VOICE FROM THE TREETOPS 160 
 
 XXII AN ALARMING PREDICTION- 167 
 
 XXIII AN UNWELCOME CALLER 173 
 
 XXIV A LONG ROAD 180 
 
 XXV IRMA ARRIVES 188 
 
 2134256
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVI THE LITTLE RED BOOK 195 
 
 XXVII POISONED DARTS 199 
 
 XXVIII MISCHIEF BREWING 207 
 
 XXIX THE CLOSED DOOR 214 
 
 XXX THE SECOND MRS. DELWIN 223 
 
 XXXI A LINK IN THE CHAIN 229 
 
 XXXII A RUNAWAY 234 
 
 XXXIII "AULD LANG SYNE" 243 
 
 XXXIV OVER THE WALL 252 
 
 XXXV HEARD ON THE LINKS 263 
 
 XXXVI ESCAPE FROM SCRUTINY 275 
 
 XXXVII AT BLOSSOMVILLE 283 
 
 XXXVIII VOICES 301 
 
 XXXIX FOUR MONTHS' ABSENCE 310 
 
 XL ON THE BRIDGE 314 
 
 XLI WHEN HEAVEN SEEMED NEAR 331 
 
 XLII SMOLDERING 338 
 
 XLIII LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 349 
 
 XLIV SUMMONED 360 
 
 XLV RETRIBUTION 369 
 
 XLVI WHEN LONGING TRIUMPHED 377 
 
 XLVII SURRENDER 384 
 
 XL VIII WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 393 
 
 XLIX REVEALED 403
 
 AT THE SIGN OF 
 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE ARRIVAL 
 
 SUNSHINE dancing on the long, dusty road, 
 a fresh breeze swaying the blackberry vines 
 that clambered over the low stone wall, and 
 the chirping of the sparrows gave a cheery greet- 
 ing to the old stage-coach as it lumbered clumsily 
 over the road on its way to the village. Clouds 
 of dust seemed trying to render it invisible, but 
 its crackled yellow paint glimmered bravely, as 
 if determined to be noticed, and the coach rocked 
 and swayed as if it were frail, but hilarious. 
 
 The horses were gaunt, and evidently ill fed; 
 but, as if to keep pace with the gayly swaying 
 coach, they ambled down the steep roadway, the 
 descent giving them the appearance of making 
 greater speed than would otherwise have been 
 possible. 
 
 7
 
 8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 On the top of the coach were several passengers. 
 Inside there were but two : an old woman, wiry 
 and angular, and a young woman, fair to look 
 upon. Hair that was warm and sunny, eyes that 
 were dark, and thoughtful, and an oval face that 
 bespoke refinement and strength of character 
 these were what appealed to one first upon meet- 
 ing her. She was evidently very tired, and she 
 leaned back wearily, turning her head so that she 
 might look out at the sunny fields and distant hills, 
 and at the same time discourage any attempt at 
 conversation. 
 
 The older woman watched her closely. Her 
 small, shrewd eyes narrowed as she scanned every 
 feature, noted the weary droop of the young 
 shoulders, and glanced at the slender hands lying 
 listlessly in the lap, and for a moment she closed 
 her thin lips tightly, with the air of one who 
 thought: " I told you so," although she dared 
 not say it. 
 
 She wished that the girl would speak, or even 
 emit a tired sigh, when there would be an excuse 
 for saying what lay at her tongue's end, but the 
 girl remained silent, not changing the pose that 
 she had held for nearly a half hour. At last the 
 older woman's patience gave way. 
 
 " Sylvia ! "
 
 THE ARRIVAL 9 
 
 The girl turned to look at her. 
 
 " Will ye say now that ye're sick of the whole 
 thing? The whole crazy scheme, I mean? If 
 ye don't speak soon, Sylvia, I do b'lieve I shall 
 fly!" 
 
 " Don't," said the girl. " First, it wouldn't be 
 becoming, and second, it's impossible." 
 
 " I do say ye shouldn't be flippant. This trip 
 isn't a joke by a long odds," was the tart reply, 
 " and how it'll end, the Lord only knows. Won't 
 ye even say ye wish we hadn't started? That 
 ye'd be glad if ye hadn't ever thought of com- 
 ing?" 
 
 The girl turned squarely around on the seat, 
 and looked for a second into the bead-like eyes of 
 the questioner. 
 
 " Aunt Zilla, you have asked those same ques- 
 tions at least twenty times since we started, and 
 as many times I have answered them. I am tired 
 with the long journey, first by train, and now, the 
 last few miles by coach; but my determination to 
 reach the old house, and to remain there from 
 now until the date named in Aunt Sylvia's will, is 
 unchanged. 
 
 * You promised to go with me, and be my 
 housekeeper, and companion, friend, protector, 
 whatever you choose to call yourself, remaining
 
 io THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 with me until the time is up. You seemed willing, 
 almost eager when we first talked the matter over. 
 I can't understand why you are full of regret now 
 that we ever started." 
 
 The girl's voice had been angry when she had 
 commenced speaking, but now, sweet and low, it 
 held a note of grieving, and its gentle reproof 
 touched the older woman, where anger had failed. 
 
 " I don't mean to be impatient, nor to go back 
 on my promise to stay with ye, and stick by ye, 
 even tho' I do think the whole thing foolhardy, 
 but Sylvia, the road seems uncommon lonely, and 
 somehow I do hope the old house won't look 
 ' pokerish ' when we reach it. Not that I expect 
 a band of music to be playing on the back stoop, 
 or a crowd inside when we unlock the door, but as 
 there's just we two, I do hope the old place won't 
 look too glum." 
 
 " You've not seen the place; I have," the girl 
 replied, " and truly, I can't tell you that it is 
 really ' gay,' but if we face it bravely, it may be 
 bearable." 
 
 " Bearable! Good gracious, Sylvia ! If that's 
 all you can say, I guess it's worse even than I 
 expected, and land knows " 
 
 "Here ye be!" shouted the driver, bringing 
 his horses to such a sudden halt that they barely
 
 THE ARRIVAL 11 
 
 escaped falling back on their haunches. " This 
 is the old Durant house, called ' The Three 
 Birches,' where ye said ye was goin', no comin', 
 wal anyhow, this is it," and he clambered down 
 from his seat to open the door and to assist them 
 to alight. 
 
 It was not his habit to show so much courtesy, 
 but the girl's appearance had impressed him, and 
 his curiosity was aroused. Later, at the " store," 
 he would tell his cronies of the strange fact that 
 the old Durant house was to have two tenants. 
 
 Having paid him, the girl and her companion 
 turned toward the house, and the driver, realiz- 
 ing that there would be no opportunity to question 
 them, mounted his seat, and drove off down the 
 road. 
 
 The girl looked after the receding coach, as if 
 dreading to have it disappear, but the older 
 woman stared in horror and amazement at the 
 house that was for a time to be their dwelling- 
 place. Weather-beaten, and shabby it was, with 
 its blinds with missing slats, its sagging fence, its 
 untrimmed shrubbery, and its weed-grown path, 
 but most striking of all was its look of utter desola- 
 tion. 
 
 u For goodness' sake, Sylvia ! Isn't there a 
 door on that house where we can get in? Or,
 
 12 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 rather, get out, for I guess we'll be more anxious 
 'bout getting out, come to think of it." 
 
 " Come this way," was the quiet response; and 
 the older woman followed, her sharp eyes notic- 
 ing the spaces where pickets had fallen from the 
 old fence, and the garden flowers had found their 
 way out through the open spaces, that they might 
 look up and down the road. 
 
 " No wonder they want to, tho' land knows 
 there isn't much to see," she muttered. 
 
 Althea and locust trees in full bloom had hidden 
 both porch and door from view when they had left 
 the coach; and now, as they made their way along 
 the weed-grown path, she saw that the porch was 
 wreathed in roses, and trumpet-vines, each trying 
 to outdo the other in an effort to cover its weather- 
 beaten pillars and its moss-coated roof. 
 
 The key grated in the rusty lock as Sylvia in- 
 serted it, and she was obliged to grasp the knob, 
 and push against the door before it would yield. 
 
 A muttered remark from her companion was 
 unnoticed by Sylvia, who entered the little hall, 
 with seeming bravery, and pushed wide the living- 
 room door. Small, charred logs were in the fire- 
 place, as if the owner of the house had but gone 
 out for a stroll, leaving them burning. A book 
 lay open upon the table, and near it, a candle that
 
 THE ARRIVAL 13 
 
 had guttered, and ceased to burn, as suddenly as 
 had the life spark in that strange woman who, 
 once, from sheer perversity, had chosen to live 
 there. 
 
 Strong physically, and if possible, stronger of 
 will, she had, upon the death of her husband, left 
 her beautiful home, after having disposed of 
 many of his treasures and taken up her residence in 
 this old and lonely house. Having withdrawn 
 from all social life, all friendship, and kinship, 
 she had spent her last years in the company of her 
 garden flowers, when out of doors her books, 
 when within. 
 
 Now, by the old carved table stood her niece, 
 and namesake, Sylvia Durant, sadly looking down 
 at the open volume and the half-burned candle, 
 and thinking of the woman who had died sud- 
 denly, while reading there. 
 
 " Sylvia ! Sylvia ! For mercy's sake, don't 
 stand there dreaming. I'll warrant ye wish ye 
 hadn't come, but ye won't say it, so I'll ask ye a 
 different question. Is there a store anywhere near 
 this old rookery? It's likely we'll have to eat 
 while we're here, and if there's market errands to 
 be done, I'd 'nough rather do them before it's 
 any later in the day." 
 
 " I wrote to the agent of Aunt Sylvia's prop-
 
 14 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 erty last week, enclosing an order for provisions, 
 to be delivered here to-day, and doubtless they will 
 arrive before long. Some one is coming along 
 the path now, toward the side door." 
 
 " Side door? I didn't see any door when we 
 landed here; I never dreamed this old trap 
 boasted two," the woman said, as she hastened 
 through the house to learn who might be al- 
 ready boldly knocking. A freckled-faced lad 
 stared up at her in astonishment as she opened 
 the door. 
 
 "Wai, I swan! " he cried, forgetting to close 
 his mouth after the ejaculation. 
 
 " Is that the way ye speak to a woman the first 
 time ye meet her? " Aunt Zilla inquired sharply. 
 
 " Wai, no," said the lad, " but I told the boss 
 'twa'n't no use to lug a mess er groceries to a empty 
 house, an' he said: 'Tain't empty. Go long 
 over,' but I didn't b'lieve him. When d'je 
 come? " 
 
 " Put the parcels on the kitchen table," the 
 woman replied, ignoring his question. 
 
 She knew that every person who came to the 
 house, or who chanced to meet her on the road 
 to the village, would be filled with prying curiosity, 
 and determined to question her; and she was
 
 THE ARRIVAL 15 
 
 equally determined grimly to ignore their interro- 
 gations. 
 
 The lad dumped the bundles upon the table re- 
 gardless of the fact that one contained eggs; and 
 he hurried toward the door, glancing warily over 
 his shoulder as he went out. 
 
 " Wonder if he thought I'd bite? " Aunt Zilla 
 said grimly, as she locked the door. 
 
 Realizing that she had not heard a sound in 
 the house since she had passed through the rooms 
 to open the side door for the grocer's boy, she 
 went softly back to the door that opened into the 
 living-room. 
 
 "Sylvia, what ails ye?" she cried. "Ye 
 haven't moved since I left the room. Ye're star- 
 ing at that guttered candle, jest as ye did when we 
 fust come in. Sylvia, ye do act queer. Are ye 
 bewitched? Has this old rattle-trap of a house, 
 with its ugly furnishings, begun to affect ye al- 
 ready? If it has, ye've a job of it ter hold out 
 fer a year and a day ! Sylvia ! Fer goodness 
 sake, speak! " 
 
 Slowly the girl's eyes turned to look at the ex- 
 asperated woman. 
 
 " Good gracious, Sylvia ! Ye look as if ye'd 
 seen a ghost! "
 
 16 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " I haven't," was the quiet reply, " but truly the 
 open book, the half-burned candle, Oh, it 
 makes me feel as if she had but just left this room, 
 and at any moment might return." 
 
 " 'Tain't possible ye think, " the older 
 woman faltered. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " Sylvia said quickly, " I'm not 
 superstitious, only those things have been left 
 here, just as she left them, and even the charred 
 logs in the fireplace strengthen the impression of 
 recent occupancy." 
 
 It was evident that the situation demanded im- 
 mediate action, and when Sylvia, as if the spell 
 were broken, left the table with its open book, and 
 went out into the little front garden to admire 
 the riot of bloom, Aunt Zilla snatched both book 
 and candle, and bore them away to the kitchen. 
 
 She made a second trip to the living-room, plac- 
 ing fresh logs on the andirons, and taking the 
 half-burned ones out to the range. She thrust 
 some paper into the grate, piled small fagots 
 upon the paper, added the charred logs, and, when 
 all were blazing, threw in the old candle and the 
 book, taking care to tear the pages from the bind- 
 ing, lest they might smolder, instead of being at 
 once destroyed. 
 
 " That's one good job done," she said grimly.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 FOR A YEAR AND A DAY 
 
 GOING over to the window, Aunt Zilla 
 stood looking out, a tall, spare figure, 
 whose gray gown, and thin pale face 
 seemed tinted with the same monotonous coloring 
 that rendered wall and woodwork so drearily un- 
 interesting. 
 
 Not that her face always lacked animation. 
 There were times when her small black eyes 
 flashed fire, but just now she saw only the garden 
 filled impartially with flowers and weeds, the 
 broken pickets in the fence that marked its bound- 
 ary, the dusty road, and on its farther side, the 
 tall dark forest, looming far above the old house, 
 as if glowering over it, or protecting it, who could 
 say which? 
 
 " A year and a day," she whispered, " and in 
 such a place as this! " She fell to wondering if 
 pedestrians ever tramped over that dusty road, 
 or if a team ever passed the house. It seemed to 
 Aunt Zilla that the sight of any one passing would 
 
 17
 
 i8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 cause almost wild delight. A moment after, an- 
 other thought less welcome came to her : Did 
 people pass that way after dark? If so, would 
 the sound of their footsteps lessen the feeling of 
 loneliness and desolation, or add the fear that 
 some wayfarer might pause to knock at the door? 
 
 Out in the garden, Sylvia, unaware that she 
 was being watched, wandered up one weed-grown 
 path, and down another, caressing with slender 
 fingers the tall flowers that reached out from the 
 mass of phlox, columbine, bachelor's buttons, and 
 a dozen other varieties that seemed to have been 
 planted at random. 
 
 " Oh, the foolishness of some folks ! " groaned 
 Aunt Zilla. " The wildness and folly of running 
 away to a place like this, instead of stayin' where 
 she was, with a rich aunt to care for her, and a 
 rich man dyin' to marry her! " 
 
 She leaned against the window-frame, still 
 watching Sylvia, and marvelling that one so fair 
 should choose to live in so isolated a dwelling, and 
 for a year and a day, at that! Again she spoke in 
 a voice so low that it sounded like one scarcely 
 awake, giving utterance to thoughts conceived in 
 dreamland. 
 
 " Engaged, they said, to young Jack Stanwood, 
 possessed of little save good looks, and a brain
 
 FOR A YEAR AND A DAY 19 
 
 for business. Well, she hasn't chose ter tell me 
 what started her in this direction. She jest wrote 
 and asked me would I agree to stan' by her and 
 be her housekeeper fer a year and a day! Who 
 ever heard such a date, fer a contract? ' A year 
 and a day ! ' Good Ian' ! And we've but just 
 begun! Who ever dreamt the place would be 
 so pokerish, spookey, or any other name that 
 would fit it?" 
 
 Then, for a time she stood by the window, silent 
 and looking out with eyes that seemed unseeing, 
 until Sylvia's hand on the latch awoke her from 
 her somber dreaming. She heard the girl enter, 
 walk along the hall, and then into the living-room. 
 
 "Oh ! What have you done ? " 
 
 '' Now, Sylvia, I've done the only sensible thing 
 that could be done. I've took them things that 
 held ye spellbound, the book, the candle, and 
 the logs, and burned them! Yes, burned them 
 in the range. Why, ye look's if I'd done some- 
 thing wicked! " 
 
 ' Well, it does seem strange to put them right 
 out of the way, but perhaps it was best, though 
 I'd never have said ' yes ' if you'd asked me." 
 
 ; ' I knew it. That's why I didn't ask. I done 
 it. Why, Sylvia, if I had my way, I'd burn every 
 stick of this old furniture and get new to cheer
 
 20 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ye through the long time ye've set a ' stunt ' to 
 stay, but ye'd not consent." 
 
 " I'd surely not consent. You've not the 
 money to spare, and neither have I. Aunt Daphne 
 Van Horn always spoke of me to her friends 
 as an heiress, but she would not for the world 
 have told them how small was my inheritance," 
 Sylvia said. 
 
 " She was generous with ye, wasn't she? " 
 
 " Always," Sylvia replied, " save in one mat- 
 ter. She gave me a luxurious home and pur- 
 chased, with a lavish hand, all the fine raiment 
 that my exceedingly small income would not buy; 
 but in return she claimed the right to choose a 
 husband for me, and that I insisted upon doing 
 for myself. So here I am, in the deserted home 
 of my godmother, the first Sylvia Durant, deter- 
 mined to comply with the terms of her will, and 
 live here, as it directs, for a year and a day, when 
 I shall become sole heir to her property." 
 
 ' Well, I guess when the time's up ye'll think 
 ye've earned it. Is this old place all ye'll get fer 
 livin' wretched fer a year? " 
 
 "This!" cried Sylvia. "Aunt Zilla, this is 
 a very small part of the Durant property. Be- 
 side thirty thousand dollars deposited in banks, 
 there is real estate in New York, the value of
 
 FOR A YEAR AND A DAY 21 
 
 which is yet to be determined. It would never be 
 reckoned as affluence, but it would be a back- 
 ground for Jack and me while he is making his 
 way in the business world, and there's no one 
 worth while but Jack." 
 
 "H'm! Ye haven't seen the whole world 
 yet," Aunt Zilla remarked dryly. 
 
 Receiving no reply, she continued: "I've 
 wondered ever since yer first letter came why ye 
 chose me to- stay with ye." 
 
 11 First: because I'd always heard you spoken 
 of as fearless; and second: because as you had 
 always lived in the country, you were less likely to 
 be impatient of these surroundings than a city- 
 bred woman would be," Sylvia said. 
 
 " I've lived in the country, surely, but I 'ain't 
 never been in the wilderness 'til now," was the 
 spirited reply. 
 
 It was at twilight that Sylvia received an en- 
 tirely new view of Aunt Zilla's character. Brave, 
 and absolutely fearless, she had believed her to 
 be, yet when the toast and tea were ready, and 
 they had taken their places at the table, the older 
 woman had abruptly risen and crossed the little 
 dining-room to the window. 
 
 ' I can't get it out of my mind that folks is 
 likely ter peep in at them winders," she said, and
 
 22 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 drew the shades down to the sill in nervous haste. 
 
 She sat down opposite Sylvia, served the toast, 
 and was sipping her tea, when a slight sound made 
 her start. 
 
 " I'm not sure I bolted that door," she said, 
 and again she left the table, hastening to the side 
 door to learn if it were locked. 
 
 " And that is the fearless woman whom I have 
 chosen for protector," Sylvia murmured, but 
 when they resumed eating she made no comment 
 upon the evident nervousness of her companion. 
 They finished the meal in silence, the ticking of 
 the clock, the only sound in the room. Sylvia was 
 trying to convince herself that the nervous fear 
 so evident was perhaps the result of the long 
 journey, and consequent weariness, and that once 
 settled down in the place, her aunt would be as 
 brave as she had always been declared to be. 
 
 Aunt Zilla's mind was filled with very different 
 thoughts. " What in the world ever possessed 
 me ter agree ter come ter this awful place? If we 
 don't go wild with terror we'll do well," she 
 thought.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT 
 
 SYLVIA had said not a word of her own opin- 
 ion of the old house. She had thought her 
 aunt's prejudice sufficiently strong, and re- 
 solved to hide the fear that made her start at the 
 least sound. She had known that she would be 
 lonely but timid? Afraid? She had never 
 thought of that. 
 
 It is remarkable how many uncanny sounds can 
 emanate from the walls of an ancient dwelling. 
 
 However silent it may appear to be, it is im- 
 possible to remain long under its roof without 
 hearing the creaking of a rusty hinge or the rat- 
 tling of the blind if the wind is stirring, the scrap- 
 ing of branches on the roof if trees stand near the 
 house, to say nothing of countless little snapping 
 sounds for which no one could account. 
 
 Sylvia was glad when Aunt Zilla, rising from 
 the table, made quite a stir among the china, as 
 she piled it upon the tray, and turned toward the 
 kitchen. 
 
 23
 
 24 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 It was a small task to wash the china, and when 
 the pieces were replaced in the closet, she turned, 
 and looked squarely at the girl. 
 
 " Well, Sylvia," she said, " We've the evening 
 before us, and nothin' very excitin' ter ent'tain 
 ourselves with, so I'll ask which ye think o' doin' ? 
 Will we set in the front room, or the dinin'- 
 room? " 
 
 The girl looked toward the living-room. 
 
 " Not there to-night," she said. 
 
 ' Then there's no other rooms open but the 
 kitchen, so our choice will hev ter be settin' here 
 or in the kitchen, or goin' ter bed ! " 
 
 Sylvia shivered, either because of a draft, or 
 at the thought of the tiny kitchen from which the 
 side door opened out into the garden. 
 
 " I'm tired," she said. " I think I'll go up to 
 my room. Perhaps things will look different to- 
 morrow." 
 
 A look of pity, almost of sympathy came over 
 the thin face of the older woman, and she moved 
 nearer, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder. 
 
 " P'raps it will seem different after we're some 
 used to it," she said. 
 
 " It's our first day here, child. I'll lock up, 
 and we'll see if it seems any more, well agree- 
 able on the next floor."
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT 25 
 
 Agreeable! She had tried to choose a better 
 word, but could think of no term that would more 
 fittingly describe what she hoped to find on the 
 second floor. 
 
 Although old Sylvia Durant had deliberately 
 chosen to live there, it was evident that she had 
 not been fearless, for beside the ordinary lock, 
 both front and side doors were supplied with 
 three formidable bolts one near the latch, one 
 at the top, and one at the bottom of each. Aunt 
 Zilla took care that all were securely pushed into 
 place, and then with Sylvia mounted the creaking 
 stairs, their candles lighting the way. 
 
 The chamber over the living-room was to be 
 Sylvia's, and that over the dining-room Aunt 
 Zilla's. 
 
 They paused in the upper hall, then with a 
 softly spoken " good-night," turned toward their 
 respective rooms, each devoutly hoping that after 
 a night's rest, the dawn would bring them a bit of 
 cheer. 
 
 Aunt Zilla closed the door of her rbom, and 
 looked about her. Even the pattern on the wall 
 paper appeared to be a series of blue hobgoblins, 
 dancing wildly about upon a tan-colored back- 
 ground. Scrolls and arabesques they were, but 
 the woman's nerves were under tight tention, and
 
 26 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the scrolls, like her fear, were exaggerated. 
 Hastily she undressed, blew out the dancing flame 
 of the candle, and sprang into bed, and although 
 the night was warm, covered her ears that if 
 strange sounds there were, she might not hear 
 them. In spite of her fear, sleep overtook her, 
 and soon she was dreaming of the long ride by 
 coach that had brought them to the old Durant 
 house. 
 
 In her chamber, Sylvia stood looking about her. 
 She had placed her candle upon a small table, and 
 seeing a bolt upon the door, had pushed it into 
 place. 
 
 The furnishings were simple but of fair qual- 
 ity; the paper garlanded with flowering vines was 
 not bad; and the rug that covered the greater 
 part of the floor was of quiet coloring and in- 
 definite design, so that, as a whole, the effect was 
 rather pleasing. A low, reed chair stood beside 
 the table, and like one in a day-dream, Sylvia sat 
 down. Her suit-case was within easy reach, and 
 from it she took some of her little belongings. 
 Not a thought of sleep had she. Indeed, it 
 seemed to her that her eyes were wider open than 
 they had been at any time during the day. Me- 
 chanically, she removed the pins from her hair, 
 and as she brushed it, sat thinking, thinking.
 
 27 
 
 She thought of Aunt Daphne Van Horn, and 
 clearly seemed to see her as she had appeared on 
 the last afternoon that they had been together. 
 Again and again she had tried to persuade the girl 
 that it was her duty to marry the suitor who pos- 
 sessed the greatest wealth. Not until the last had 
 she used the obnoxious word, duty. Rather, she 
 had endeavored to show the advantage of such a 
 match. 
 
 Earlier she had spoken disparagingly of Jack 
 Stanwood, but a flash in Sylvia's eyes had in- 
 stantly taught her the folly of that, and she left 
 Jack's name out of all arguments, instead taking 
 great pains to lay stress upon the social position, 
 great wealth, and generosity of the man who was 
 cordially disliked by Jack and by Sylvia herself. 
 
 Finding all other arguments unavailing, she had 
 used the last one that occurred to her, with the 
 most surprising result. 
 
 How well Sylvia remembered that interview. 
 At first, Mrs. Van Horn had been cheerfully de- 
 termined, as if the match were a foregone con- 
 clusion, only that she must go over certain details 
 that her niece might clearly see what was expected 
 of her. After a time, realizing that the girl made 
 no response, she turned sharply to look at her. 
 
 " Really, Sylvia, few girls promised to a man
 
 28 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 like that would seem so absolutely indifferent. 
 Haven't you a word to say? " she asked. 
 
 "A word? Yes, and more than a word. 
 How am I promised to the man you are talking 
 of? Surely I have never given him the least en- 
 couragement much less, a promise!" Sylvia 
 had cried, in quick anger. 
 
 " Such matters can often be better adjusted by 
 one of greater experience. / told him that you 
 favored him, and that only your coquetry kept 
 you from showing your real regard for him." 
 
 "Aunt Daphne!" 
 
 "Well, what could I do?" Mrs. Van Horn 
 had responded hotly. " It was a brilliant match 
 for you that you were doing your best to throw 
 away. He was about discouraged, and I told him 
 that to hold him until I could talk with you, and 
 get you to listen to reason. I tell you it is your 
 duty to marry wealth. I took you when, at six 
 years old, you were left an orphan. I've done 
 all I could for you, and what has been the result? 
 You've turned away one after another who have 
 had wealth and position to offer, while you've 
 clung to one who has precious little to boast of. 
 Oh, it is almost beyond belief that a girl of your 
 intelligence would be so foolish! " 
 
 " Is it foolish to want to marry a man that I
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT 29 
 
 can love?" Sylvia had asked in a voice that 
 sounded strange even to herself. 
 
 "Oh, romance!" had been the angry reply. 
 " And a great romance it will be when you two 
 try to live on less than enough for one. If Jack 
 Stanwood imagines that I'll leave enough to make 
 you a help to him, he's greatly mistaken. You'll 
 be a great helpmeet for a man like Jack, and I 
 tell you now, if you obstinately engage yourself 
 to him, I'll make a new will, and revoke my be- 
 quest to you, and leave it to public charity in- 
 stead." 
 
 With this threat she had left the room before 
 Sylvia could reply, and a few moments later had 
 gone out to her club. 
 
 Still brushing her waving hair, Sylvia's thoughts 
 shifted to what had occurred a few days later. 
 Always she had believed that Aunt Daphne Van 
 Horn loved her. That she showed no affection, 
 Sylvia considered merely a peculiarity. Mrs. Van 
 Horn had many peculiarities, among them a fixed 
 belief that love was quite unnecessary as an as- 
 surance of happiness in married life. 
 
 " When I married Marcus Van Horn I certainly 
 had no foolish dreams of love, and I hardly think 
 he thought of anything so romantic," she said. 
 " He was a man of vast wealth, and wealth I
 
 30 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 longed for. He wanted a wife who would be an 
 ornament in his handsome home, and chose me. 
 As I was not in love with him, I've been able 
 very comfortably to survive his death, and now 
 possess the wealth that I always coveted. Tell 
 me, was not the match fortunate?" 
 
 " From one point, no," Sylvia said in a low 
 voice; " for much as I like ease and luxury, I'd 
 rather have true, faithful love than double the 
 fortune that you now possess." 
 
 " I suppose that means that you consider Jack 
 Stanwood and nothing an ideal combination," was 
 the quick retort, made more bitter by the sneer 
 that rendered Mrs. Van Horn's fine face repellent. 
 
 Sylvia's lips for a moment refused to reply. 
 Her anger was too deep for words, and Mrs. 
 Van Horn, turning to her desk, began sorting the 
 mail that the maid had just brought in. 
 
 " I have letters to write," she said coldly, and 
 Sylvia had been only too glad thus to be dismissed. 
 
 She too, must write, and at once, a letter that 
 would tell Jack not to come that evening, as he 
 had promised; yet she must see him. 
 
 Where could they meet? 
 
 Three weeks before she had received the notice 
 of the terms and conditions of old Sylvia Durant's 
 will. Not the least idea had she at that time of
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT 31 
 
 complying. Safe in a luxurious home, she be- 
 lieved that Aunt Daphne loved her enough to re- 
 lent, and that later she would give her consent to 
 her alliance with Jack, and she dreamed of a 
 happy life stretching out before her. 
 
 The hope of converting Aunt Daphne to her 
 own way of thinking was now worse than idle and 
 foolish; it was impossible. Mrs. Van Horn was 
 shallow and fickle, but once her mind was fixed 
 regarding a matter, no power on earth could force 
 her to change it. One declaration that she made 
 had sunk deep. 
 
 " A great helpmeet you would be ! " she had 
 said, and that had hurt, for, now, for the first 
 time, Sylvia had seen how poorly equipped she 
 was to be a poor man's wife. 
 
 Finely trained for the life that would be hers if 
 she married as her aunt directed, she had not one 
 useful accomplishment that would make comfort 
 in a modest little home. 
 
 Plainly, in justice to Jack she must comply with 
 her godmother's strange request leave the 
 home that now could only be unpleasant, and take 
 up her residence in the old Durant place " for a 
 year and a day."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A NEWSMONGER 
 
 AGAIN the scene shifted and clearly she 
 seemed to see Jack as he had looked at 
 their last meeting. Wondering why he 
 must refrain from calling at the Van Horn resi- 
 dence, he hastened to a quiet spot in the park, 
 where they had often met before, and he found 
 Sylvia waiting for him. 
 
 " I'm not late," he had said with a laugh, 
 " You're early; " then a look in her eyes told him 
 that something had happened. 
 
 'What is it, Sylvia? Tell me," he had said. 
 " Something is troubling you." 
 
 He had listened quietly while she repeated all 
 that Mrs. Van Horn had said, but he showed not 
 the least surprise. 
 
 ; ' Why Jack, how calmly you take it! " she had 
 said. 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't I take it calmly?" had 
 been the quick response. " I have always known 
 that your aunt did not favor me-, so that could not 
 
 32
 
 A NEWSMONGER 33 
 
 surprise me; and as to the fact of her promising 
 you to that braggart, Langdon, that surely was no 
 news, for Langdon himself is spreading the story 
 as fast as he can at the clubs. It did not disturb 
 me greatly because I did not believe it. 
 
 " Even now that you say it is true, I am not ex- 
 cited. Her promise is one thing, and yours is an- 
 other. He doesn't say that he has your promise. 
 He says that he has hers, and her promise does 
 not worry me. Why, Sylvia, Langdon could never 
 win you away from me ! " 
 
 She blessed him for his perfect faith. 
 
 " He never could," she had said, and then in 
 the heavy shadow of the trees he comforted her, 
 as only he could comfort. Suddenly she had 
 looked up into his face. 
 
 " It is getting late," she said, " and I haven't 
 told you all I have to tell. Jack, I can't stay with 
 Aunt Daphne. It would be unbearable now, not 
 only because she is angry with me, but because 
 from now on she will continually invite. Oh, 
 Jack ! You know, he will be there persistently ! " 
 
 Then Jack had said exactly what she knew that 
 he would say. He had declared that it was " an 
 ill wind " and so forth, and that Mrs. Van Horn's 
 bad temper and Sylvia's avowal that she could not 
 live there proved conclusively that there was but
 
 34 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 one thing to be done. They must be married 
 without further delay and thus solve the problem. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " she had said, quickly. " I am 
 going away." 
 
 And then, before he could protest, she had 
 told him of Sylvia Durant's will and the strange 
 condition under which she could inherit the prop- 
 erty. It was in vain that he had tried to deter 
 her from her purpose to lose the inheritance, 
 if she must. His salary had just been raised, he 
 argued, with the promise of another raise the next 
 year. 
 
 She did not tell him that it was for his 
 sake that she might not be a burden that she 
 was eager to go to the lonely old house for that 
 reason. She knew only too well how he would 
 combat that. 
 
 Persistently he plead with her to give up the 
 wild scheme for winning the inheritance, and to 
 be content with what he had to offer. With equal 
 persistence, she declared her determination to go. 
 At last his patience gave way. 
 
 " Well, I suppose you will let me come out there 
 to see you?" he said, "or did your godmother 
 state that, to make matters pleasanter, you were to 
 agree to have no guests? " 
 
 " Jack, if you come, can you refrain from coax-
 
 A NEWSMONGER 35 
 
 ing me to give it up, and go back to the city with 
 you?" 
 
 ' No, I can not! The whole thing is a crazy 
 scheme, designed to make us both wretched," he 
 had replied, " and I'd be a fool not to use every 
 effort to make you relent." 
 
 ' Then, Jack, you must not come," had been 
 her calm reply. 
 
 Wheedling, coaxing, arguing were alike un- 
 availing, and they had parted, each hurt and an- 
 gry, and each convinced that the other was wrong. 
 
 Sylvia still sat by the little table, but the brush 
 had slipped from her listless fingers and lay idly 
 in her lap, while the long waving hair, glistening in 
 the flickering candle light, fell about her face and 
 down upon her arms. 
 
 Plainly she seemed to see Jack's strong athletic 
 figure, his firm mouth that yet could smile so pleas- 
 antly, his clear blue eyes that looked fearlessly out 
 from beneath level brows. But even as she sat 
 thus the smile appeared to vanish, and she seemed 
 to see him as he had looked when they parted, his 
 lips firmly closed; was it anger or pain that held 
 them thus? About the expression of his eyes 
 there was no question. Nothing but pain could 
 make them look like that. 
 
 He had believed that the girl could not per-
 
 36 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 suade herself to share an income so limited, and 
 that greed had urged her to comply with the terms 
 of the will. And it had hurt; oh, how it had hurt 
 to let him believe that greed was her motive, yet 
 what could she do? Had she told him that she 
 was undertaking the task for his sake, that she 
 might not come to him, empty-handed, he would 
 have made it still harder for her to carry out the 
 plan upon which she had determined. It ren- 
 dered the loneliness still harder, that she was mak- 
 ing so great a sacrifice, while so completely mis- 
 understood. 
 
 A sigh escaped her lips, and for the first time 
 she realized how long she had sat thinking. She 
 glanced at the little clock upon the mantel. It 
 had not been wound for a year. 
 
 u You shall go for a year and a day," she 
 thought, as she took her tiny watch from her 
 girdle. Both watch and fob glittered in the 
 candle-light, but the watch had stopped. Did 
 all things stop in that strange old house ? 
 
 She braided the long, soft hair, undressed, 
 blew out the flickering flame, and then going over 
 to the window, looked out. 
 
 Moonlight touched the riot of flowers and 
 shrubbery in the garden, and lay a silver path 
 along that part of the road near the fence. The
 
 A NEWSMONGER 37 
 
 forest, dark and somber on the other side, cast a 
 heavy shadow half way across the road. She 
 turned from the window, and crossing the room, 
 lay down, very wide-awake, but also very weary. 
 Drowsiness at last crept over her, and half-awake 
 she murmured : 
 
 "Oh, Jack! Jack! I felt I must do this 
 for you." 
 
 Morning, and Sylvia awoke feeling that dark- 
 ness and terror had fled hand in hand. She had 
 not moved, having slept the dreamless sleep of 
 extreme weariness. She felt refreshed. 
 
 The fact of having taken possession of the old 
 house was unaltered, but in the sunlit haze of early 
 morning, she saw, as from a different view-point. 
 She arose, and went over to the window and 
 looked out. 
 
 The road that had been so lonely by moon- 
 light now appeared to have taken on a more 
 cheerful aspect, and even the tall trees on the op- 
 posite side seemed less dark and forbidding. 
 Only here and there could a ray of sunlight filter 
 through the heavy foliage, but where it did ap- 
 pear, it danced upon the green moss at the foot 
 of the trees like merry elves at play.
 
 38 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Sylvia leaned from the window, and looked 
 down into the garden. The flowers and shrubbery, 
 dew-laden, seemed beckoning to her. " Things 
 look more friendly this morning," she said. 
 
 She laughed as it flashed through her mind that 
 elaborate toilets would not be required in her 
 present position, and well she knew the look of 
 contempt that would appear on Aunt Daphne's 
 fine face, could she but catch a glimpse of her now. 
 She had twisted her waving hair into a loose knot 
 and pinned it securely. Then she had slipped 
 into the simplest muslin gown that she owned, 
 and hastened down to the garden. 
 
 It was, of course, the riot of flowers and weeds 
 of the night before, the same untrimmed shrub- 
 bery and clambering vines, the same weed-grown 
 paths, but, for some reason that she could not 
 have explained, the blossoming branches that 
 overhung the path and tapped her shoulder, or 
 caught at her gown as she passed seemed more 
 friendly than the erect plants of a formal garden. 
 Like hands of little children, they reached out, 
 unabashed and unrebuked, to bid her welcome. 
 
 Already the bees were at work, and the girl 
 hummed softly, as if to keep them company. 
 
 She gathered a few stalks of the tall scarlet 
 balm and a fine, feathery white flower that looked
 
 A NEWSMONGER 39 
 
 well with it, and went in to find a vase or jar in 
 which to place them. " They'll brighten the liv- 
 ing-room," she thought. 
 
 A tall, green pitcher in the corner cupboard 
 served her purpose, and she took it to the kitchen 
 for water. The clatter of dishes told that Aunt 
 Zilla was stirring, and Sylvia, appearing in the 
 doorway, made her start. 
 
 " Good land ! I thought ye were a ghost I 
 didn't call ye, for I thought ye was tired, and 
 might like ter sleep; an' here ye've been out in 
 that crazy old garden, wandering 'round in sop- 
 ping-wet weeds. Sylvia, ye oughtn't ter be care- 
 less in this out-er-the-way place ! Why didn't ye 
 put on rubbers? Yer feet are wet, I'll war- 
 rant!" 
 
 ' They're not. These shoes are stout, and if 
 the shoes are wet, my feet are not; and see the 
 flowers I've gathered for the living-room," the 
 girl replied. 
 
 " Flowers will help to make it cheerful." 
 ' There's certainly room fer improvement," 
 Aunt Zilla said, " and I will say them red and 
 white blossoms do look sort o' gay." 
 
 Later in the forenoon she appeared in the hall, 
 dressed as if she were going some little distance, 
 for she wore her wraps, although the day was
 
 40 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 warm; a small veil was drawn tightly over her 
 face, and her right hand firmly grasped the handle 
 of her umbrella. 
 
 " Why, where are you going? " cried Sylvia. 
 For a brief moment she wondered if Aunt Zilla 
 contemplated leaving. 
 
 " Down-town, wherever down-town is in this 
 strange place," was the answer. " There's some 
 things needed that didn't come over from the 
 store, and I thought I'd take a walk just ter nudge 
 them a bit, an' at the same time find out if that 
 everlastin' road leads anywhere. It looks as if 
 it had no end. Will ye mind stayin' here while'st 
 I'm gone? Sylvia, would ye rather come with 
 me?" 
 
 Sylvia had followed her out to the front porch, 
 and she laughed as she seated herself upon the 
 upper step and leaned against the post that was 
 half concealed by the rose vines. 
 
 " Of course, I'll not mind remaining here," 
 she said, " especially as I'm not eager for a walk 
 this hot morning. I'll choose a cooler day to ex- 
 plore the place." 
 
 " Hot or cold, I'm goin' ter find the store if 
 there is one ! " Aunt Zilla declared; and she strode 
 forth, a determined figure in the June sunlight. 
 
 She had watched the grocer's boy as he left the
 
 A NEWSMONGER 41 
 
 house, and up the road she went in the same di- 
 rection that he had taken to return to the store. 
 Tall, dark, and wiry, she looked as if nothing 
 could stop her, but something did, and but a 
 short distance from the house. 
 
 Trees and underbrush at the side of the road 
 now hid her angular figure from the girl on the 
 porch, who had watched her departure. Similar 
 clumps along the way alternated with long sunny 
 stretches, boasting never a bit of shade, so that 
 she was alternately hidden in the shadow, and dis- 
 played in the sunshine. 
 
 She was approaching a thick clump of alders 
 when a shrill voice talking caused her to halt for 
 a second, and then, impelled by curiosity, pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 ' This 'ere is the darnedest town on the map ! " 
 cried the wiry individual who stood by the road- 
 side talking to himself, or to the landscape, no 
 one could say which. 
 
 * The ^ww-darn-dest ! " he cried with increased 
 energy, just as Aunt Zilla appeared in sight. 
 
 11 I agree with ye," she promptly responded, 
 " But man alive! ye oughtn't ter give voice ter 
 such sent'ments. Don't ye know ye ought ter 
 boom the place ye live in? " 
 
 " Boom it! Boom it, did ye say? Wai, that
 
 42 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 shows ye're a stranger in these parts. Why, 
 woman! It'd take more whack than you er I 
 have got ter boom it. Why, it's just that dead 
 that a bomb drapped in the square wouldn't ex- 
 plode. 'Twouldn't make a sound. 'Twould jist 
 roll over and fall quietly in pieces." 
 
 Drawing nearer, and looking at her with cur- 
 ious eyes, he asked a question. " Does the gal, 
 Miss Sylvia, like here? Is she contented here 
 since ye brung her? " 
 
 " I didn't bring her. Not much ! It's none er 
 my doin's. It's she that brung me, an' some 
 agin' my will, too." 
 
 " Ye don't say! " ejaculated the man. 
 
 " I do say it an' I'd like ter ask ye somethin'. 
 Where d'ye git her name ? " 
 
 " Oh, that's easy. Jim Jimson druv ye over 
 here in the stage, and while he didn't ketch yer 
 last names, he did hear ye call the gal ' Sylvia,' so 
 he said down ter the ' store ' that she looked so 
 d'jected, he bet a dollar ye brung her agin' her 
 will." 
 
 " The idee ! A batch er newsmongers squat- 
 tin' 'round a store, and fixin' up a story ter suit 
 yerselves ! Why we've just ariv ! " 
 
 Aunt Zilla's black eyes snapped. 
 
 " Oh, they didn't mean no harm, but say! " he
 
 A NEWSMONGER 43 
 
 continued, " Miss Sylvia looks tur'ble gentle an' 
 sweet. How on airth could she make ye?" 
 
 " She could/ " Aunt Zilla said firmly. " She's 
 gentle an' sweet, as ye say, but she's got the de- 
 term'nation of the Durants." 
 
 " 'Twa'n't no love affair sent her 'way from city 
 life, was it? Didn't no feller go back on her, 
 did he?" 
 
 The old woman's eyes blazed, and she lifted her 
 umbrella as if to strike him, then, as he dodged, 
 let it fall in sheer amazement. 
 
 ' Who ever heard of any man goin' back on a 
 Durant, ye loon'tic? There's a dozen men that 
 hev been danglin' after Sylvia Durant, but she run 
 away from all of 'em, and lugged herself and me 
 here," said Aunt Zilla. 
 
 " She's a beauty, so folks is apt ter think they's 
 a romance hitched ter her, along o' its bein' un- 
 common fer a young woman ter come ter live in 
 that ol' rookery," said the man. 
 
 " Git out! " cried Aunt Zilla, "an' tend ter yer 
 own bis'ness if ye've got any, or I'll hev some- 
 thin' happen that won't be a romance fer ye by a 
 long odds. Git! " 
 
 " No, 'fence," he ventured humbly. 
 
 But Aunt Zilla, thoroughly indignant, uttered 
 but one syllable: "H'm!" and stalked off up
 
 44 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the road, tapping the ground with her umbrella 
 as she went. 
 
 Josh Lumley, the village do-nothing, looked 
 after her thin figure. 
 
 " Ought not ter 'fended her," he said in an un- 
 dertone. " Might like ter pump her agin."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MAKING NEW FRIENDS 
 
 AFTER a long hot jaunt, Aunt Zilla arrived 
 at the store, and enjoyed the relief of ex- 
 pressing her opinion of a man who for- 
 got several articles on a plainly written order. 
 
 " Oh, well, I'm apt ter forget things some- 
 times, same's most folks do," was the drawling 
 reply, " but I don't forgit everything. Ter show 
 ye: I heared 'bout ye fust day ye come on the 
 stage with a mighty pooty gal. Jim Jimson told 
 the hull batch of us as was settin' 'round the store, 
 an' I ain't forgot it yet. Coin' ter stay at the old 
 house a spell? " 
 
 " Yes," she said shortly, " and ye may as well 
 send a bag er flour over with the other things." 
 
 " All right. I'll be prompt. Ye're what I call 
 a fust-class customer. Ye ordered a pound er 
 tea ! I hain't sold over a half or a quarter of er 
 pound er tea at a time since time out er mind. 
 Got means, hain't ye?" 
 
 " See here ! " cried Aunt Zilla, " I've lived in 
 
 45
 
 46 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the country all my life, but where I come from, 
 they didn't ask questions like that." 
 
 " We ask questions here, 'cause that's all the 
 way we're likely ter find out," was the cool reply. 
 
 " It didn't work that time," Aunt Zilla said. 
 
 " No, but it might the next, there's no tellin', 
 but say! Coin' ter like here?" he asked curi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Seems like a queer 
 place." 
 
 " Queer I Wai, now ye've hit the nail on the 
 head. Queer! " he repeated. " Say, d'ye know 
 why they named this 'ere place Blossomville? 
 'Cause there's always plenty o' blossoms, but 
 darned little fruit." 
 
 Without waiting for any comment he con- 
 tinued: " Don't make no odds whether it's pear- 
 trees, apple-trees, er plum-trees, it's all the same. 
 Trees chuck full o' blossoms in the spring, but 
 when it comes time ter gather, there's nary fruit. 
 Why, squash-vines in this local'ty has blossoms 
 'bout the size er soup-plates, but what of it? 
 They 'ain't no squashes worth mentionin'. Same 
 with folks. The children 'round here is han'some 
 when they're little, but look at 'em later, an' see 
 what they be ! There's Sarah Ann Gates. 
 Han'some child as ever was; but Lawd! Look
 
 MAKING NEW FRIENDS 47 
 
 at her now! Long legs an' arms! Why, her 
 arms saw the air so I can't never think of any- 
 thing but a windmill when I see her talkin' an' 
 gestick'latin', an' as fer her complexion! Good 
 Lawd! I tell ye, we blossom here all right, but 
 we 'mejitly peter out." 
 
 "Ye're givin' out a poor 'pinion of the place," 
 Aunt Zilla remarked, hoping that he would con- 
 tinue. He did. 
 
 " What I'm tellin' is true," he responded, " As 
 true as my name's Nat Gates. Sarah Ann, I 
 spoke of, is my niece. Why, gals has plenty o' 
 'tention as long as they're good ter look at, but 
 here in Blossomville, jist as soon's a gal is out'n 
 her 'teens, she's a sight ter behold! 'Tis so! 
 'Tain't no use ter tell the gals here ter marry fer 
 love ! They hev ter grab the fust man that axes 
 'em 'cause they don't never expect ter git 'nother 
 chance. Time they're over twenty they look like 
 old witches. Tell 'bout ketchin' time by the fore- 
 lock. Great Peter! They hev ter grab him by 
 the hull scalp! " 
 
 Aunt Zilla was amused and her black eyes 
 twinkled. She was about to speak, when the 
 talkative one resumed. 
 
 ' That's why folks here is so 'mejitly int'rested 
 in Miss Sylvia what did ye say her name was? "
 
 48 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " I hadn't said," she replied, " but I'm willin' 
 ter say her name is jest like her aunt's was 
 Sylvia Durant." 
 
 " Oh, ye don't say! Wai, she's a beauty." 
 
 He leaned over the counter, his face expressing 
 wild interest, or curiosity, who could say which? 
 Possibly it was a little of each. 
 
 " Is yer name Durant, too? " he asked. 
 
 "No, I'm Mrs. Drusilla Bond. Sylvia calls 
 me ' Aunt Zilla.' " 
 
 " Pleased ter know ye," was the truthful re- 
 sponse, " 'n' I'll give ye a piece er news ter take 
 back home with ye : The Squire's goin' ter call at 
 yer place. He is for a fact ; he told me so. Folks 
 here allus likes ter git 'quainted with any new folks 
 that come here, but I expect the Squire is struck 
 all of er heap with Miss Sylvia, bein' he's tur'ble 
 in a hurry ter call." 
 
 "Why, man alive, he 'ain't seen her! We 
 haven't but just come," Aunt Zilla said, looking 
 at the man in amazement. 
 
 " Oh, he seen her, all right. He drove by 
 the old house, an' stopped in to talk with me 
 when he came back, an' he said as how he'd call 
 soon, an' lose no time 'bout it. He seen her with 
 a white gown on, a wand'rin' about the ol' garding,
 
 MAKING NEW FRIENDS 49 
 
 an' he's bound to know her. As I told ye, the 
 Squire's struck all of a heap ! " 
 
 " Then he may as well stay in a heap for all 
 the good it'll do him," was the angry retort. 
 
 " Good land, woman! Don't fly in the face of 
 Prov'dence ! The Squire ain't ter be sneezed at, 
 not by a jugful. He's good-lookin', an' what's 
 more he's got means, the Squire has. He's 
 well ter to do, I tell ye. Why, he's got Wai, 
 I'll be hanged!" 
 
 Aunt Zilla, too angry for words, had turned, 
 and left the store. 
 
 Open-mouthed, Nat Gates leaned over the 
 counter, and watched the tall thin figure as it hur- 
 ried down the road. 
 
 " Wall, I vum ! Kind o' toppin', wa'n't she ? " 
 he remarked, but there was no one present to re- 
 ply. 
 
 Alone on the porch, Sylvia sat looking down 
 at the flowers over which the bees were hovering. 
 A big yellow-striped hummer was trying to en- 
 ter a small bell-flower, buzzing all the while, as 
 if angry because the blossom was a " tight fit." 
 
 As she dreamily gazed, she thought of the 
 three hundred and sixty-five days stretching out 
 before her. She rose, and walked down to the
 
 50 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 gate. She looked out upon the lonely road. The 
 sound of dry twigs snapping made her start. 
 
 "Have I the courage to remain here?" she 
 thought. 
 
 "Hark! What was that sound?" she asked 
 herself. 
 
 She turned from the gate and went back to the 
 porch. 
 
 " The one extra day we spent here yesterday," 
 she said half aloud. u How can I occupy all the 
 others so that the waiting will be, well, bear- 
 able?" 
 
 The loneliness, and the fear at night, and 
 yes those indescribable sounds. She turned as a 
 familiar creaking made her start. 
 
 " There is the cause of at least one of the 
 abominable noises," she said in quick relief. 
 
 Out-hanging from the side of the house, just 
 below her chamber window, was a rusty swing- 
 ing sign bearing the legend: " Sign of the Three 
 Birches." She laughed, and thought how for- 
 tunate it would be if all the strange sounds could 
 be as easily accounted for. 
 
 " The noises of the night are awful," she said. 
 
 A low whine startled her. Then it was re- 
 peated a bit louder. She looked around her to 
 learn whence it came, and there, where a picket
 
 had fallen from the fence, were two soft brown 
 eyes looking wistfully at her. 
 
 " Do you want to come in? " she asked, and a 
 joyful bark replied. She ran along the path to 
 the gate, through which a handsome red setter 
 bounded as soon as it was opened. 
 
 "Down, Sir! Down!" Sylvia cried, for in 
 evident delight he was bounding about her, 
 springing up in an effort to kiss her. 
 
 He was well trained, for he hung his head, as 
 if abashed at his rudeness, yet he leaned lovingly 
 against her, and looked up at her with eyes that 
 plead forgiveness. 
 
 " Oh, you're a good dog," said the girl, pat- 
 ting his fine head, " only you're well rather 
 impulsive." 
 
 " Good dog," he knew the meaning of, and 
 wagged his tail, but the remainder of the sentence 
 he did not comprehend, so he continued to watch 
 her face for further signs of welcome. 
 
 " Come, sit here beside me," and as she spoke, 
 Sylvia returned to her seat on the porch, and the 
 dog, quite as if he had always lived there, dropped 
 down beside her, his forepaws overhanging the 
 edge of the porch. His coat was silky, and he 
 appeared to be well fed, as if his owner cared for 
 him, but he wore no collar. He lay content be-
 
 52 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 side Sylvia, as if he had no thought of leaving. 
 As she talked to him he snuggled nearer, and when 
 her slender hand caressed his head, he showed 
 his evident pleasure. 
 
 " No collar, no name, and an owner no one 
 knows where. Oh, I wish I could keep you, lad- 
 die." 
 
 At the last word he whined with delight, and 
 reached to lap her cheek. 
 
 " No, no ! " she cried, dodging the caress, and 
 laughing, " but is ' Laddie ' your name? " 
 
 It seemed as if the dog all but spoke. He 
 wagged his tail until his entire body was in mo- 
 tion, he pranced about, and in every way that lay 
 in his power, he told her that the name fitted. 
 
 " Well, Laddie you shall be, as long as I have 
 you with me, and dear Laddie, I do hope your 
 master will be long in learning where you are," 
 Sylvia said; and then, happier because of the new, 
 dumb friend, she sat dreaming, her arm about the 
 dog's neck. 
 
 Both girl and dog were content, and for a long 
 time they sat thus, the dog often turning to look 
 up at her, his soft eyes eloquent. It was Laddie 
 who first heard a sound of approach, and he 
 pricked up his ears, alert, listening. Then Sylvia 
 heard it. It was a horse's hoof-beats on the road,
 
 MAKING NEW FRIENDS 53 
 
 and almost as soon as she had heard it, the horse 
 and rider appeared from behind the wild shrub- 
 bery that had hidden them. 
 
 The horse, a fine, well-groomed animal, guided 
 by the firm hand on his bridle, walked up to the 
 fence and reached over to nip at the nearest shrub. 
 His rider, a stout, prosperous-looking man, di- 
 rected all his attention to the occupants of the 
 porch. His ruddy face was clean-shaven, his 
 gray hair closely cropped, and his small gray eyes 
 looked with lively interest at the girl, the twinkle 
 in them rendering his expression kindly, although 
 his mouth was firmly set, as if he were one who 
 considered his will preeminent. It was apparent 
 at a glance that, whoever he might be, his clothing 
 was neither purchased nor made in Blossomville, 
 but that which made the strongest impression was 
 the man's absolute confidence. He was always 
 sure of himself. Sometimes a bit too sure. 
 
 He had caught a glimpse of the graceful, white- 
 gowned figure on the porch before she had seen 
 him, and he had approached boldly, expecting to 
 see a look of keen interest on her sweet face, 
 caused by his unexpected appearance. Instead, it 
 was the dog who looked alert and curious. The 
 girl looked up without apparent interest, but when 
 the rider drew up to the fence and stopped, her
 
 54 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 level brows lifted a trifle, as if questioning why 
 he paused. 
 
 " Pleasant morning," he ventured, not as if that 
 were news, but as if he used the remark as an en- 
 tering wedge. 
 
 " Charming," was the response, gently spoken, 
 but inviting nothing further, in the way of con- 
 versation. 
 
 " I don't know that you know it, but I am Luke 
 Elmore, Squire Elmore, they call me here," he 
 said. 
 
 " Are you? " Sylvia said quietly. 
 
 " Well, now, Miss, Miss I don't know 
 your name, but I came to give you a sort of wel- 
 come here," he said in an injured tone. ' We 
 don't wait for introductions in this little place, and 
 if we did, who'd introduce me to you? There's 
 no one here who knows you." 
 
 " Is this dog yours, and did you stop to get 
 him? " Sylvia asked. 
 
 "That dog? No," replied the squire. His 
 vanity was greatly hurt, in that he had made no 
 impression, but at least she had spoken, and he 
 was thankful for that. 
 
 " That's the dog the chap left on the platform 
 when he skipped town in a hurry yesterday."
 
 MAKING NEW FRIENDS 55 
 
 " Oh, then he'll come back to get him, and I'd 
 hoped I could keep him here," Sylvia said with 
 grieving in her voice. 
 
 In her anxiety regarding her new, dumb friend, 
 she forgot the reserve that she had determined to 
 maintain. Her arm tightened on the dog's neck, 
 and again he looked up into her eyes. 
 
 " He'd be a comfort in the long days," she said, 
 " but oh, at night, with Laddie in the house, I'd 
 never fear." 
 
 ' Well, I guess you'll have no great difficulty 
 in keeping him," was the comforting reply, " for 
 he acts as if he felt well contented, and as to his 
 owner ever coming for him, you need have no 
 fear. He left a bill for three weeks' board at 
 the little tavern, together with a few other bills 
 unpaid, and when he jumped aboard the train, he 
 drove the dog back onto the platform; so as he 
 was purposely left, I guess he's yours, if you want 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, Laddie, Laddie!" was all Sylvia could 
 say, so great was her relief. 
 
 "How did you know his name?" the Squire 
 asked, to prolong the conversation; " he seems to 
 be wearing no collar." 
 
 " I happened to call him ' Laddie,' and he
 
 56 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 seemed wild with delight, so I believe that is his 
 name, and Laddie he shall be." 
 
 " And now as I want to be a kindly neighbor 
 in this little place, may I know your name? " 
 
 " I am Sylvia Durant," she said quietly.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CALLER AT " THE BIRCHES " 
 
 AUNT ZILLA, filled with wrath that the 
 storekeeper had dared to speak of any 
 resident as aspiring to know Sylvia, strode 
 resolutely down the road, occasionally ejaculat- 
 ing; " H'm! " as a vent to her anger. 
 
 Suddenly it occurred to her that he who thus 
 aspired was even more to be despised, and she 
 thumped the ground with her umbrella. 
 
 Judge of her emotions when, as she neared the 
 house, she saw a stout, florid man mounted upon 
 a fine horse, and apparently enjoying a chat with 
 Sylvia. 
 
 " Didn't let much grass grow under his feet, 
 did he?" she whispered. "Wai, I guess Sylvia 
 could freeze him, Why, of all things ! She's 
 talking to him! " 
 
 A few steps nearer she espied the dog, and 
 spoke her thoughts. 
 
 " Good land ! Has he brung her a present the 
 fust time he set eyes on her? Wai, if he must 
 bring a animal, I do hope he won't keep it up, fer 
 
 57
 
 58 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the place ain't big 'nough fer a menagerie, an' 
 pussonally, I'd not like the care of one." 
 
 Before Aunt Zilla reached the house, the Squire 
 had lifted his hat, and rode on. 
 
 She hurried forward, opened the little gate, and 
 walked up the path. The dog looked askance 
 at her, and crowded closer to Sylvia, keeping a 
 watchful eye, however, on what he believed to be 
 an intruder. 
 
 " Who was that man, Sylvia? " 
 
 A low soft laugh greeted the questioner. 
 " He introduced himself," she said, " and he told 
 me that he was Squire Elmore, and by his manner, 
 Aunt Zilla, you and I are to consider ourselves 
 greatly honored in receiving a neighborly call from 
 him." 
 
 " Call? Why he was on his horse and outside 
 the fence, Sylvia." 
 
 " Well, that wasn't his fault. I didn't invite 
 him in." 
 
 ' Yer Aunt Daphne Van Horn would be hor- 
 rified if she see a fat, elderly man what had never 
 been introduced, a-talkin' ter ye as if he'd been 
 'quainted some time." 
 
 " Has any one, a stranger to you, Aunt Zilla, 
 talked to you, without having been properly pre- 
 sented, since you started for the store?"
 
 A CALLER AT "THE BIRCHES" 59 
 
 The woman's stern face relaxed and she smiled 
 grimly. 
 
 " I guess 'twon't be any use to look fer formal- 
 ity here," she said, " fer I hadn't gone far when 
 the queerest rascal I ever see started runnin' the 
 place down, an' I agreed with him, and 'fore I 
 knew it, I vow, I was talkin' with him ; and Sylvia, 
 the cur'osity here is something jist awful! They 
 ask the fust question that comes ter them, but say ! 
 Does that dog b'long to him? " 
 
 Aunt Zilla did not say who, but instead, pointed 
 down the road, where the Squire and his horse 
 had disappeared. 
 
 " No, no! " cried Sylvia. " He's mine; aren't 
 you, Laddie? And with him in the house, we'll 
 not be afraid." 
 
 " Well, I'm not sure," was the reply. " He 
 acts 's if he was afraid of me, an' if that's so, 
 what would he do with a full-sized tramp? " 
 
 " Show his teeth, and growl, of course. He 
 isn't afraid of you, for he's no coward, are you, 
 Laddie?" 
 
 He looked his devotion. 
 
 ' Well, he is a fine-lookin' critter, I will say," 
 Aunt Zilla said. "Say, young feller! Are ye 
 goin' ter be friends with me? " 
 
 She extended her hand and Laddie promptly
 
 60 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 laid his paw in it, looking up at her for approval. 
 
 " Wall, 'f I ever see the beat o' that! " Aunt 
 Zilla exclaimed, and when she heard his story, she 
 at once decided that it must have been luck that 
 brought him. 
 
 " When I fust see him beside ye, I didn't know 
 he had a name, and I was thinkin' I'd call him, 
 1 Calamity,' but I do'no' but ' Windfall ' would fit 
 better," she said. 
 
 " His name is ' Laddie,' and Laddie he'll be," 
 Sylvia said, leaning to lay her cheek against the 
 dog's head. 
 
 It proved to be a day of happenings. Later in 
 the afternoon, the grocer's boy appeared with the 
 articles that Aunt Zilla had purchased and two 
 letters for Sylvia. As they lay upon the table, 
 where the boy had dropped them, only one had 
 the address side up. The writing was familiar; 
 yet, for the moment she could not say whose it 
 might be. She opened it, and read: 
 
 " DEAR SYLVIA: 
 
 " All the girls miss you, but I most of all. 
 
 " You can't think what a time I had trying to 
 obtain your address that I might write to you. 
 
 " After asking every one else, I thought of Jack 
 Stanwood, and asked him if he could tell me where 
 to address you, and he did. He looked rather 
 glum.
 
 A CALLER AT "THE BIRCHES" 61 
 
 "You and Jack were firm friends, I thought; 
 yes, even more than friends, but really I don't tell 
 you to annoy you, but because it may be that you 
 ought to know, that Jack is consoling himself for 
 your absence by being friendly with some of the 
 girls, Fannie Ardmore in particular, whom he 
 never before cared to notice. Why did you leave 
 the city in such haste? Really, you set us won- 
 dering, and your aunt, Mrs. Van Horn, simply 
 freezes any unlucky wight who is so unwise as to 
 inquire for you. 
 
 " I never noticed before what a handsome fel- 
 low Jack is. Last night at Mrs. Farrington's re- 
 ception he looked especially fine, as he stood talk- 
 ing with Fannie. 
 
 " He is so strikingly dark, and she is so pale a 
 blonde. Of course, we all admit her to be a silly 
 little thing, but she knows how to dress effectively; 
 and if she can't talk brightly, she leaves all the 
 more spaces in the conversation for the man who 
 can, and possibly that is her strong point. 
 
 ' I suppose Jack finds time to travel to the se- 
 cluded spot where you are staying, doesn't he? 
 
 " It is said that he disappears every Saturday 
 morning, not re-appearing until Monday. If he 
 isn't with you, where is he? An old aunt keeps 
 house for you, one of the girls told me. How 
 really quaint! Isn't it dull? 
 
 ' Do write, and tell me how you like rusticat- 
 
 in S- " Lovingly, 
 
 " IRMA DELWIN. 
 
 " P. S. I'd simply love to come and see you, 
 but I was not invited in your farewell note. 
 
 " I. D."
 
 62 A CALLER AT "THE BIRCHES" 
 
 Sylvia's cheeks were burning when she had fin- 
 ished reading the letter, and without so much as 
 a glance at the second letter, she slipped the two 
 into the velvet bag that hung from her belt. 
 Pleading a headache, she went up to her room, 
 Laddie at her heels. She did not take the letter 
 from the bag, but sat down in the low, reed 
 chair by the window, and when twilight came, it 
 found her still sitting thus, the light breeze blow- 
 ing the curling bits of hair back from her flushed 
 face, while Laddie, from his place on the rug be- 
 side her, watched her, as if wondering at her si- 
 lence.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 FROM A MAN'S VIEW-POINT 
 
 THE sun was lower now. Trees at a dis- 
 tance were enveloped in a soft lilac haze. 
 Twilight, with its neutral tints, would soon 
 make even near objects indistinct. 
 
 Laddie softly tapped the floor with the tip of 
 his tail, a mute hint that he would like to be no- 
 ticed. Still the girl sat thinking, thinking. Why 
 had that letter come to disturb her? The writer 
 had never been more than a casual acquaintance. 
 Why had she cared to write, when so much effort 
 was necessary to secure the address? 
 
 Plainly the letter was written to cause uneasi- 
 ness, but why? Why should Irma Delwin be 
 eager to communicate with her, or to hint that it 
 would give her pleasure to call? One does not 
 take an all-day journey to make a call unless some 
 especial object impels her to use so much time 
 and effort. It was the more surprising in Irma's 
 case, as she was noted for her aversion to effort in 
 any direction. 
 
 63
 
 64 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 The breeze that stirred the curtains was cooler 
 now. Sylvia shivered, and picking up the scarf 
 that lay on the arm of her chair, drew it about 
 her shoulders. 
 
 " Sylvia ! Sylvia ! Are you coming down 
 soon? Tea is ready now." 
 
 The girl longed to say that she was not hungry, 
 and that she would remain where she was, but she 
 knew that immediately Aunt Zilla would rush up- 
 stairs to learn if she were ill; so she arose and 
 crossed the room to the hall, saying: "I'm com- 
 ing," with the hope of allaying curiosity. 
 
 She took her place at the table, just as Aunt 
 Zilla came in from the kitchen. 
 
 Laddie had dropped upon the floor close be- 
 side Sylvia's chair. She had spoken the first word 
 of welcome since his master had cast him off, and 
 evidently, in his faithful heart, he had vowed to 
 be her friend and protector. 
 
 Aunt Zilla sat down, and commenced to pour 
 the tea. 
 
 4 There's a long distance between this house and 
 the next one," she remarked. " This road on 
 the left leads right into the woods,, an' the one at 
 the right is the one I took to the store ; and the 
 house I was speakin' of is a big farmhouse. A 
 little old man named Wiley owns it. I found out
 
 FROM A MAN'S VIEW-POINT 65 
 
 that much, an' I guess 'twas him I see settin' on 
 the porch as I went by, but I, Why, Sylvia ! 
 I hadn't noticed how pale ye look. Is yer head 
 still achin'?" 
 
 ' Yes," Sylvia said in a strange voice. 
 
 " Wasn't anything in the letter ter upset ye, was 
 there?" 
 
 ' The letter was from no one of any impor- 
 tance," was the truthful reply, but Aunt Zilla was 
 not wholly satisfied. 
 
 ' Ye didn't say ye felt sick until that youngster 
 brung the letter. Brought two, didn't he?" 
 
 " Yes, but I haven't opened the second yet. 
 My head ached so that I did not feel like reading 
 it. It is doubtless as unimportant as the one I did 
 read." 
 
 " I'll read it aloud to ye, if ye want I should," 
 was the eager offer. 
 
 " Oh, there's no hurry about it." 
 
 "Who's it from?" 
 
 " I don't know. I said I'd not read it," Sylvia 
 replied with a shade of annoyance. 
 
 " Didn't know but ye knew the handwritin'," 
 was the next venture. 
 
 " I've not so much as glanced at the envelope 
 yet." 
 
 Aunt Zilla decided that Sylvia possessed no curi-
 
 66 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 osity; while in return, the girl was firmly con- 
 vinced that the inquisitivenesss of the locality was 
 not the exclusive possession of those outside the 
 old house. 
 
 The meal was a silent one. Occasionally Lad- 
 die whined for a tempting morsel, which each time 
 he received, although Aunt Zilla remarked that 
 animals should never be fed in the dining-room. 
 
 Sylvia waited until the dog had devoured a 
 hearty meal served in a tin pan in the kitchen. 
 Little cared Laddie how or where it was served, 
 and he ate with gusto. Quantity, not quality was 
 his motto. 
 
 " Ye ought ter go to bed early," Aunt Zilla 
 advised; " fer really, Sylvia, ye do look awful. 
 Like 'nough ye'll feel better after a good night's 
 rest." 
 
 " I think you are right," the girl said gently, 
 grateful that the way of escape had been made so 
 easy for her. After all, the questioning if rather 
 annoying, had been prompted by interest rather 
 than curiosity. 
 
 A creaking, groaning sound made Aunt Zilla 
 start. 
 
 ' There ! That's the worst noise of all that 
 I hear in this house," she said, to which Sylvia re- 
 plied :
 
 FROM A MAN'S VIEW-POINT 67 
 
 " But one that I learned the explanation of to- 
 day. There is an old hanging sign on that side 
 of the house, just under my chamber window, that 
 bears the legend: ' Sign of The Three Birches.' 
 It is rusty and creaks as the wind moves it. It 
 hangs above the door on that side of the house 
 that is closed up. You know that that door is 
 nailed, as well as bolted, and the shutters over the 
 windows are as securely fastened." 
 
 " I know it, an' it fairly gives me the fidgits! " 
 declared Aunt Zilla, " fer I'm all the time won- 
 d'rin' what's in there, an' never darin' to try to 
 find out." 
 
 " It will be opened some day," Sylvia said, as 
 she moved toward the door. 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 " Good night," was the reply uttered aloud, but 
 to herself the older woman whispered: "If I 
 know myself, there'll be a able-bodied man here 
 to open that closed door, an' take the fust look 
 for us!" 
 
 The dog raced up the stairway ahead of the 
 girl, and pushed wide the door that she had left 
 ajar. He was eager to show that he knew which 
 room hers was, and that he was glad to stay with 
 her. 
 
 1 You're a comfort, Laddie," she said, as she
 
 68 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 drew down the shade, and lighted the candle, re- 
 solved to read the second letter. 
 
 Believing it to be a similar one, from some other 
 girl, doubtless an alleged friend, who had some- 
 thing disturbing to communicate, she drew it forth, 
 and tore open the envelope without looking at its 
 address. 
 
 The first glance at the letter showed Jack's 
 familiar writing. No need to look for his name. 
 
 " DEAR SYLVIA : 
 
 " I know I should not write, but I will. 
 
 " You asked me neither to come nor write, un- 
 less I could promise to refrain from urging you to 
 give up this wild ' stunt ' that you have set your 
 heart upon doing. I did not promise, because I 
 could not. 
 
 " See what you are doing, Sylvia. You are 
 making two people, yourself and me not to 
 speak of a third, your Aunt Zilla absolutely 
 wretched. 
 
 " What do you think the city is like with you 
 away, and what can that God-forsaken old place 
 seem like to a girl like you, Sylvia, used to all that 
 is cheerful and bright? I have never met your 
 aunt who is with you, but unless she is a most 
 singular woman, she must be sick of it already. 
 
 " Sylvia, because you started to do this thing, 
 you do not have to keep it up. I'm enough of 
 an egotist to think you miss me, and I've taken my 
 courage in my hands, and said it, but I am con- 
 siderably humbled in one respect.
 
 FROM A MAN'S VIEW-POINT 69 
 
 " I would have said that your love for me was 
 sufficiently strong to make you shut your eyes to 
 the lure of money, and cleave to me, but you have 
 proven that to be a wrong estimate, for you have 
 chosen to be apart from me for a ' year and a 
 day ' in the sole interest of winning a small legacy. 
 
 " Sylvia mine, forgive me if that sounds harsh. 
 I am sorely hurt by your persisting in doing this 
 thing that I begged you not to do. Write, relent- 
 ing in so far as to promise that you'll let me come, 
 and that when I come, you'll tell me you have de- 
 cided to let the wretched legacy go to charity if it 
 must, and be content with what I have to offer 
 you, a comfortable if not an imposing home, and 
 my faithful love that you already possess. 
 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 " JACK. 
 
 " P. S. Sylvia, I'm fearfully sick of the the- 
 aters and the club, and, at this season, what else 
 is there with which to annihilate time? Write at 
 once, do. 
 
 "J. S." 
 
 The letter was like Jack himself: straightfor- 
 ward, manly in its statements, boyish in the fretful 
 postscript. It seemed as if he had written the let- 
 ter straight from his heart, and had signed his 
 name, then, like a big boy, had told of his lack 
 of interest in amusements as an added plea that 
 she consider his loneliness. 
 
 Sylvia read, and reread the letter. She would 
 wait until morning to write, she thought.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WAVERING 
 
 SYLVIA awoke with a sense of depression 
 of something that, on the day before, had 
 been disquieting. 
 
 Oh, now she remembered ! 
 
 It was the letters : the first, designedly annoy- 
 ing; the second, what could she say of Jack's 
 letter? Frankly it avowed the sincerity of his 
 love for her, and urged her to relinquish her self- 
 imposed task of winning the legacy, and to come 
 to him, empty-handed, or nearly so, her wee in- 
 heritance being so small as to afford but simple 
 living at the old house, which, in accordance with 
 the terms of the will, was rent-free. But pride 
 had urged her to the task that she might bring 
 him a bit of fortune, and thus refute Aunt 
 Daphne's statement that she would be a burden to 
 a poor man. 
 
 Jack did not know that. 
 
 Then Irma's letter telling of his conspicuous 
 attention to Fannie Ardmore recurred to her, and 
 the hot color burned in her cheek. No sooner did 
 
 70
 
 WAVERING 71 
 
 she determine not to believe a word of the story, 
 than a part of Irma's letter, with irritating dis- 
 tinctness, flitted through her mind. " He disap- 
 pears every Sunday morning, not reappearing 
 until Monday. If he isn't with you, where is 
 he?" 
 
 " I will not be prejudiced against Jack," she 
 whispered, and even as she said it, she glanced at 
 his open letter, her eyes at once resting upon the 
 postscript. Again and again she read it. 
 
 " Sylvia, I am fearfully sick of the theaters and 
 the club; and at this season what else is there with 
 which to annihilate time ? " 
 
 Sylvia would not have admitted that such an 
 idea could occur to her, yet unhappily she thought 
 of the fact that the Ardmore's summer residence 
 was an enchanting place, and that week-end house 
 parties were the rule on the Ardmore program. 
 If, because he was dull and lonely, Jack accepted 
 their invitations, why was he silent regarding 
 them? Had he deliberately mentioned the the- 
 aters and the club to convey the impression that 
 he went nowhere else for amusement? She sat 
 down at the little table, and wrote a brief note, ex- 
 pressing her unchanged determination to carry 
 out, to the letter, the terms of the will.
 
 72 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 The morning was hot and sunny, and Sylvia 
 walked slowly along, her parasol screening her 
 from the hot rays, the letter safe in the quaint bag 
 that hung from her wrist. She had expected re- 
 monstrance from Aunt Zilla, coupled with an en- 
 thusiastic offer to mail the letter for her, that 
 thus might the address be read on the way, and 
 the name of the intended recipient learned with- 
 out asking. It happened, however, that there was 
 cooking, and other work to be done, and beyond 
 remarking that it must be an urgent letter that 
 positively must be posted, even although the day 
 had started as if designed to be a " scorcher," she 
 let Sylvia depart without making any further com- 
 ment. 
 
 The dog stalked along beside her, caring little 
 where he went so long as he might be her compan- 
 ion. He followed his usual habit of looking up 
 at her occasionally as if asking for approval; but 
 she was so closely occupied with the thoughts that 
 troubled her, so lonely knowing that Jack would 
 never come in for an evening with her, at least 
 not for a whole, long year, and then . 
 
 What if he became estranged because of the 
 long waiting that she had herself imposed? She 
 wished that with the mailing of the letter her un- 
 easy thoughts might vanish.
 
 WAVERING 73 
 
 Vaguely she saw the butterflies flitting over the 
 wall, and she wished that her heart was as light as 
 theirs. How gayly their fluttering wings bore 
 them upward in the sunlight, as if Hope itself were 
 their propelling power ! 
 
 Hope ? It had been the basis of her happiness, 
 when all the world seemed smiling. 
 
 So brief a time, and all things so changed! 
 
 Aunt Daphne's home no longer hers also, be- 
 cause she had refused to agree to marry a man that 
 she abhorred. Now, with all her love held stead- 
 fastly in Jack's keeping, she was apart from him, 
 appearing in his eyes to be grasping for money, 
 as if life with him, minus money, were not to be 
 thought of! 
 
 To make matters even worse, how was one to 
 forget that letter that Irma had written, or for 
 that matter, could any girl fail to notice that 
 Jack had taken care not to speak of the Ard- 
 mores? 
 
 " It is hard enough to endure a year and a day 
 at the old house, without distracting thoughts to 
 keep me company," she said, half aloud. 
 
 Laddie whimp-ered a sympahetic reply, and she 
 soothed him with a pat. 
 
 ' You are a bit of a comfort," she said. 
 
 She was nearing the white farm house that
 
 74 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Aunt Zilla had spoken of as belonging to a little 
 old man named Wiley. Everything about the 
 place bespoke content, from the house itself down 
 to the luxuriant hollyhocks near the road. Rose- 
 tinted, yellow and white, they gleamed in the sun- 
 light and rustled in the hot breeze. 
 
 Sylvia paused to admire them, never dreaming 
 that a pair of kindly old eyes had been watching 
 her approach. 
 
 " Pooty, ain't they? " questioned a gentle voice. 
 ' They are beautiful," Sylvia replied, a smile 
 parting her lips, as she tried to discover the 
 speaker. 
 
 Sylvia was very winning when she smiled, and 
 the little old man came forward. 
 
 His small, fine features, his crown of thin, sil- 
 very hair, and his slender frame gave him the ap- 
 pearance of being frail, so that strangers were apt 
 to inquire for his health, whereat he invariably 
 replied: "My health's all right, thank ye, an' 
 so be I." 
 
 " Come in an' rest a spell, 'fore ye go on ter 
 the store. Come set in the shade o' my holly- 
 hocks. I'd be so pleased ter hev ye," he said to 
 the girl who stood admiring them. 
 
 Sylvia could not refuse his .gentle courtesy. 
 Flushed and tired she was, although hardly half
 
 WAVERING 75 
 
 way there, and the flag-seated chair in the cool 
 shade looked inviting. 
 
 ' You are very kind," she said as she sat down, 
 " It is a long walk to the store, and back." 
 
 He looked at her with mildly approving eyes. 
 
 'We lost our daughter," he said, a tear dim- 
 ming his blue eyes, " an' ever since I've longed 
 ter see a young gal movin' about the place." 
 
 He blinked, and a smile bravely replaced the 
 tear. 
 
 " I'd be pleased if ye always stopped here a 
 spell on the way ter the store an' back," he said, 
 wistfully. 
 
 " I'd love to," Sylvia said, grateful for his gen- 
 tle friendliness, " and I will." 
 
 " Sort o' lonesome a.t ' The Three Birches,' 
 ain't it? " he asked. 
 
 ;< Indeed it is," Sylvia replied, in a manner that 
 spoke volumes. 
 
 ' Then, whenever it gets ter be jest too lone- 
 some ter be borne, come over here. I'm Ezry 
 Wiley, an' my wife, Temp'rance, will be turr'ble 
 pleased ter see ye." 
 
 Sylvia was surprised at the eagerness with which 
 she accepted his invitation. It offered an oppor- 
 tunity for an occasional escape from the gloom of 
 the Durant house. She looked toward the holly-
 
 76 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 hocks that were yielding their sweets to the ma- 
 rauding bees. 
 
 " Funny fellers, them," remarked Ezra, " an' 
 dreadful human, too. Got all they kin hold, yet 
 scrambl'in' fer more. Go it ! " he continued, as 
 a huge bee dived deep into a pink blossom. " I 
 like ter see a feller persist ef he wants ter git a 
 thing; tho' I must say I think ye graspin'." 
 
 A big brindle cat lay asleep on the grass, close 
 beside his chair, and the little old man reached a 
 slender hand to stroke the soft fur. The cat 
 awoke, and as a bee flew humming by, stretched 
 a tawney paw to strike at it. 
 
 " Tom! Tom! " cried Ezra, " would ye med- 
 dle with a critter what wasn't meddlin' with ye? 
 Last time ye fooled with a striped bee, he stung 
 yer nose fer yer imperdence. Don't ye remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 Tom arose, and rubbed against the old man's 
 legs. 
 
 " Ah, he remembers, an' well he may, bein's he 
 couldn't see 'round his nose fer nigh onter three 
 weeks. Let 'em 'lone, Tom. It's a awful good 
 plan ter tend ter yer own affairs, an' let other folks 
 alone." 
 
 Espying the dog, Tom turned "and ran up to the 
 house, although Laddie had only watched him
 
 WAVERING 77 
 
 curiously, making no effort to molest him. Sylvia 
 noticed that while the kindly old fellow expressed 
 a gentle interest in her, he showed none of the 
 curiosity of his neighbors, and that he made no 
 effort to question her regarding her stay at the old 
 house, or her life previous to her arrival at Blos- 
 somville. After a pleasant chat, she went on to 
 mail her letter, having promised to stop for an- 
 other rest on her way back. 
 
 The " post-office " was situated in one corner 
 of the grocery store. Having been stared at by 
 the half-dozen loungers who spent the greater part 
 of every day there, she slipped her letter into the 
 box, answered several questions which were pro- 
 pounded by Nat Gates, with a view to keeping her 
 in a good position for his cronies to observe her, 
 and then she started to return. 
 
 " Han'some as a pictur, I declare ! " said one. 
 
 " Sweetest face I ever see! " said another. 
 
 "Carried her head like a thoro'bred!" re- 
 marked a third. 
 
 :< Don't look much like old Sylvia Durant, what 
 used ter live at that old house with the flatiron- 
 shaped garding. Lor' but she was a case ! Say, 
 they is noises in that 'ere old rookery that jest 
 make you flesh crawl. I'd hate ter hev that gal 
 scaret," said another.
 
 78 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Oh, she's got a ol' aunt livin' with her that has 
 got a powerful lot o' grit. Noises wouldn't scare 
 her, an' as fer ghosts, if they is any that old 
 woman would stand ready ter whack 'em with her 
 ambrill, you bet! " 
 
 Unaware of the interest that she had created, 
 Sylvia walked along the road, a bit calmer since 
 the letter to Jack was mailed. She had wavered 
 while yet it was in her possession, wondering if 
 it might have been differently worded. She did 
 not wish to retract. She was firm in her resolve 
 to remain at the old house for the specified time, 
 and equally firm in her belief that she could not 
 persist, if Jack were to come often to plead with 
 her to relinquish her purpose, but she wondered if 
 she might have expressed her statements more 
 tactfully. Had she seemed hard? 
 
 " Nonsense! " she murmured, putting her right 
 foot down with a firmer tread. " If I had writ- 
 ten less sternly, Jack would have seen weakening 
 in the lines, and would have rushed here, simply 
 to coax and plead. It was best to mail the letter, 
 just as I wrote it."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 CONFIDENCES 
 
 NO one ever spoke of the owner of the best 
 farm in Blossomville as Mr. Wiley, nor as 
 Ezra Wiley. 
 
 Gentle and kindly he was beloved by all, and 
 he had a cheery word for everyone whom he 
 met, from the oldest inhabitant to the latest ar- 
 rival. " Ezry," they called him, and he merited 
 their regard. 
 
 ' The meanest man in the world has likely got 
 a good streak somewhere; " he was wont to say, 
 " an' I'd 'nough rather be lookin' fer it, than 
 pickin' flaws." 
 
 The village children often paused in their play 
 to say: " Let's go over to Ezry's and p'raps he'll 
 tell us a story." And they were always given a 
 glad welcome, and the story was always told. 
 Ezra enjoyed relating, for their delight, the hap- 
 penings of his youth. 
 
 The little old man was eagerly looking for 
 79
 
 8o THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Sylvia's return, and his twinkling eyes looked up 
 brightly as she opened the gate, and entered. 
 
 " I remembered your invitation, and I've come 
 in to rest a bit, before going home." 
 
 Home! The word had been thoughtlessly ut- 
 tered, but it sent a sudden pang through her heart, 
 for suddenly, and with fearful force, she realized 
 that she had no home ! Surely the fact held no 
 novelty, but for some reason it presented itself 
 in a new light, and that light was glaring! Sylvia 
 never knew how it happened, or how the subject 
 had been introduced. She only knew that Ezra 
 Wiley had not questioned her, and that it must 
 have been his gentleness that had led her to talk 
 of herself. However that may be, before she 
 left him, she had told him that she did not remem- 
 ber her parents; that she had always lived with 
 her Aunt Daphne in the city, where now, because 
 of a difference of opinion regarding what was 
 best for her happiness, she could no longer live. 
 Even then he had not questioned what that " dif- 
 ference of opinion " might be. Instead, he re- 
 peated his wish that she might often stop for a 
 little chat. 
 
 " Sometimes it does young folks good ter talk 
 their troubles over with some one older, who has 
 seen trouble, an' knows what 'tis," he said, add-
 
 CONFIDENCES 81 
 
 ing: " An' when ye come, if ye want ter tell me 
 what vexes ye, girl, why tell it. An' if 'twill do 
 ye more good ter talk of other things, then we'll 
 do that." 
 
 Sylvia was grateful for his unselfish interest 
 and his lack of curiosity, and she thanked him 
 warmly. 
 
 For a moment both were silent. 
 
 The sunlight touched the girl's bright hair, giv- 
 ing the light brown waves a warmer tint; and the 
 old man gazed at her, marvelling that she was so 
 fair. The hollyhocks rustled in the breeze; the 
 bees, still busy, made droning music; all things 
 seemed peaceful, and drowsy. Suddenly a stri- 
 dent voice broke the silence. 
 
 " Ezry! Ezry! Where be ye? Land sakes, 
 but I'm in a hurry fer 'nother pail o' water! " 
 
 " I'm comin', and so ye might say is the 
 water. Leastways, I've begun ter go fer it," was 
 the answer, the last half of which was hardly above 
 a whisper, and accompanied by a comical pucker 
 of the mouth and a merry twinkle in the kind old 
 eyes. 
 
 He rose stiffly, and smiled as he said: 'Ye 
 never in yer life see such a woman fer water I No 
 matter whether she's washin', scourin', er bakin', 
 there's a continooal call fer water! Funny, they
 
 82 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 named her ' Temp'rance.' I'm glad they did, 
 tho', fer she's a master hand fer water, an' I do 
 like ter see names fit the pussons they're tacked 
 to." 
 
 "Ezry! Ef ye're still after that water, ye 
 must hev gone ter the bottom er the well! " 
 
 " I'll be there in a jiffy, Temp'rance," was the 
 pleasant answer, and as he moved toward the well, 
 Tom followed at his heels. 
 
 " Don't ye hurry, Miss Sylvia," he said, " I'll 
 soon be back." 
 
 Having taken the brimming pail to the house, he 
 hastened to return to his guest. 
 
 " Temp'rance is a good woman, as ye'll find out 
 when ye know her," he remarked, as if he feared 
 that her sharp voice might have prejudiced the 
 girl. 
 
 " She's got plenty o' energy, an' that's one thing 
 fust made me think o' marryin' her. She had 
 plenty er energy an' 'tain't none of it abated, 
 so ter speak." 
 
 Sylvia laughed softly, and Ezra laughed with 
 her. 
 
 He broke his finest stalk of pink hollyhocks, 
 and put it in her hand when she rose to go. 
 
 " It will look bright in the old house, and help 
 ye ter remember ter come often," he said.
 
 CONFIDENCES 83 
 
 " Oh, I will," she said gratefully, and as she 
 walked down the road, she turned to wave her 
 hand to the kindly old fellow, who returned the 
 salute. 
 
 " Dretful sweet gal," he said to the cat that had 
 sprung up on the wall beside him. 
 
 Aunt Zilla was at the gate when Sylvia reached 
 the house. 
 
 " I've been worried, ye was gone so long," she 
 said. "Where hev ye been? My! Who give 
 ye them hollyhocks?" 
 
 " Our nearest neighbor," Sylvia said. " The 
 little old man who owns the white farmhouse. 
 He invited me to stop and rest a while, and I was 
 glad to. Oh, but the sun is hot! " 
 
 " Not too hot to go neighboring it seems, fer 
 ye hadn't been gone ten minutes when there was 
 a awful poundin' at the side door, an' when I 
 went I found a freckled-faced youngster with 
 a big basket of early vegetables. I says, ' Run 
 along, sonny, I don't want ter buy anything.' * Ye 
 don't hev ter! ' he said pert like; ' I was told ter 
 give these ter the gal what lives here.' ' Who 
 sent 'em ? ' says I, an' sez he : 'I wa'n't ter tell ! ' 
 an' scooted fer the woods. Now, what d'ye 
 make er that? " 
 
 " We certainly have well-disposed neighbors,
 
 84 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 if they are not near neighbors," Sylvia said, think- 
 ing as she spoke of the difference between city and 
 country acquaintances. 
 
 In the city a gift of vegetables would suggest 
 charity, and give offense, whereas in the country it 
 came only as a gift assuring friendly feeling. 
 
 " I'll tell ye one thing, Sylvia, that I think 
 'nough sight queerer than the basket full er garden 
 truck the boy left, an' that's the outrageous noises 
 ye hear in this house. I've heared ye tell 'bout 
 the old sign creakin', an' I know what ye said 'bout 
 the branches er that big tree a scrapin' on the 
 roof windy nights, but this is a new noise, an' 
 Sylvia, it beats all ! " 
 
 The girl made no reply, as she turned to enter 
 the house. 
 
 " I do wish ye'd pay 'tention ter what I'm tell- 
 in' ye. The noise was, There ! Did ye hear 
 that? " 
 
 Certainly Sylvia heard it; and even as Aunt 
 Zilla spoke, it was repeated, like the groaning of 
 one in great distress. 
 
 Again it sounded, and Aunt Zilla screamed. 
 
 "Hello! What's the matter?" a bluff voice 
 inquired, and Squire Elmore appeared in the 
 doorway. He had been passing with the hope of
 
 CONFIDENCES 85 
 
 seeing Sylvia, and at the same time wondering if 
 she would extend a welcome, if he hinted that he 
 would like to come in. Hearing Aunt Zilla's 
 scream, he had entered, and now was in, without 
 the need of hinting. She described at great length 
 the sound that had been frequently repeated dur- 
 ing the morning; and if she had been the sole oc- 
 cupant of the house, he would have assured her 
 that ancient dwellings were apt to harbor all man- 
 ner of weird sounds, and have gone his way. 
 Now, with the hope of often seeing Sylvia Du- 
 rant, he tried to allay the older woman's fears, 
 and promised often to look in, as he was passing, 
 to learn if all was well. 
 
 At the same time, he registered a vow that he 
 would continually pass that house, and that every 
 time he passed he would surely stop to in- 
 quire. Property acquired by inheritance, and a 
 limited education had bred in Luke Elmore a firm 
 conviction that he was superior to his neighbors, 
 and had given him almost an insolent confidence 
 in himself. Therefore, he chose to ignore Sylvia's 
 evident indifference, believing that with time, and 
 persistence, he would surely win her. Her en- 
 gagement to Jack had been secret, and no ring 
 upon her finger gave evidence of her pledge.
 
 86 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Seeing no token upon the white hand, Squire El- 
 more considered the field open, and he determined 
 to waste no time. 
 
 From that day his attentions were persistent and 
 untiring. Sylvia was grateful for his neighborly 
 kindness, but she could not dispel a desperate long- 
 ing to evade him. 
 
 Aunt Zilla expressed no sympathy. How 
 could she? She appreciated the huge baskets of 
 fresh vegetables, of early fruits, of flowers that 
 she daily found waiting, dew-laden, when she 
 opened the doors in the morning, and surely she 
 was thankful to have him appear, as he often did, 
 just as some unusual noise had frightened her. 
 
 Sylvia did her best to avoid him, and often suc- 
 ceeded. With her heart hungry for Jack, how 
 could she welcome the Squire, stout, florid, and 
 elderly? She shrugged her pretty shoulders as 
 she thought of it.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IN THE MIDST OF A TEMPEST 
 
 TEN days passed two weeks then, the 
 third week since she had mailed her letter 
 to Jack, and Sylvia was sick at heart be- 
 cause no reply came. 
 
 True, the letter had invited no response. It's 
 tone had seemed final. Indeed, she had so 
 worded it that it might appear as if no answer 
 were expected, and now, woman like, she was 
 grieved because no letter came. 
 
 She had slipped out, unnoticed by Aunt Zilla, 
 and now was strolling through the patch of wood- 
 land, thinking of Jack at every step. There was 
 not a day that she did not think lovingly of him; 
 but on this day, she saw his face, oh, so clearly as 
 she wandered on. 
 
 She dared not venture far into the woods, but 
 there was a path that led to a tiny brook, and by 
 keeping to that path she could not lose her way. 
 It was late afternoon, and the air was sultry. 
 
 87
 
 88 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Here and there a white birch stood out sharply, 
 but the somber trees harmonized with her mood. 
 The birches were reminders of the old house that 
 had been named for a clump of three unusually 
 large specimens that stood at one side of the tri- 
 angular piece of land, jocosely termed a garden. 
 A garden it had sometime been, but in its present 
 state a " riot " would have better described the 
 flowers and weeds that flourished with equal zest. 
 If anything, the weeds were the stronger. 
 
 The sky was overcast, and the woods seemed 
 unusually gloomy. She reached the little babbling 
 brook, and sat down upon a rock beside it, listen- 
 ing to its murmuring music, but thinking think- 
 ing of Jack. 
 
 She had been buoyed up in setting out to reach 
 the old house with the thought that at least she 
 would be free from Aunt Daphne's alternate coax- 
 ing and threatening that she must receive with 
 courtesy, if not enthusiasm, the homage of the 
 man whom she abhorred. In that, she had been 
 successful; but in her belief that the year and a 
 day would pass quickly, and with the flavor of ro- 
 mance, she had failed miserably. 
 
 Denied the luxury, the pleasures, to which she 
 was accustomed, the days dragged slowly, and 
 with leaden feet. Now, she realized that whether
 
 IN MIDST OF A TEMPEST 89 
 
 it had been music, dancing, riding, the theater, or 
 receptions, the pleasure, the real, deep happiness 
 had been that Jack was at her elbow. Without 
 Jack what would any of these pleasures have held 
 for her? That, too, was the most desolate fact 
 about the old home ; Jack was not there ! 
 
 A faint sob, symbol of her bitter loneliness, 
 escaped her lips, and she sat erect, looking around 
 as if fearing that some one might have heard. 
 She had come to feel as if at any moment, wher- 
 ever she might be, Luke Elmore was liable to ap- 
 pear, and the feeling strengthened her aversion. 
 She retraced her steps, and just as she was enter- 
 ing the side gateway, she saw him standing upon 
 the front porch, waiting for admittance. 
 
 A clump of tall shrubs concealed her, and as 
 soon as she heard the front door opened by Aunt 
 Zilla, she ran into the house, and up the rear stair- 
 way. She crept along the upper hall to her room, 
 and listened. 
 
 " Sylvia has been out some time," she heard 
 Aunt Zilla say. ' I didn't notice where she went, 
 but I've been up-stairs ter look fer her, an' didn't 
 find her, so I know she's out." 
 
 " She may be at the Wiley place," the Squire 
 responded, " so I'll go along. I may see her 
 there."
 
 90 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ' You won't" Sylvia whispered, delighted that 
 she had just escaped him. 
 
 The wind was rising, driving the branches of the 
 trees against the house, and rattling blinds and 
 windows. Light clouds were scudding across the 
 sky, but back of those loose fleecy clouds were 
 banks of leaden color that foretold a tempest. 
 The chamber was growing darker. 
 
 Aunt Zilla stepped into the hall, and she heard 
 her say: 
 
 " Oh, I wish Sylvia was safe in this house." 
 
 " I am," came the answer to her wish, and 
 Sylvia appeared descending the stairs. 
 
 " For goodness' sake, Sylvia ! You in the 
 house all the time, an' me a worryin' fer fear ye'd 
 be drenched? The Squire was here not long ago, 
 an' I said ye was out. Was ye in at that time ? " 
 
 "Just in," Sylvia replied, " and it is useless to 
 ask why I didn't come down, for you know that 
 I remained where I was to avoid seeing him." 
 
 " He's got means," Aunt Zilla said. 
 
 " Let him keep them," Sylvia replied. 
 " There's only one that I care for, and that is Jack 
 Stanwood. You know that, so what is the use of 
 talking of Squire Elmore's good points or of his 
 possessions to me? I'm not interested, and I 
 wish he could understand it."
 
 IN MIDST OF A TEMPEST 91 
 
 " Hev ye told him 'bout Jack? Prob'ly that 
 might help him some ways towards understand- 
 ing." 
 
 " I've not told him any of my private affairs, 
 and I don't wish you to," the girl said hotly. 
 
 Aunt Zilla was about to reply, when a terrific 
 peal of thunder caused her to forget what she had 
 intended to say. 
 
 Again and again it crashed, the great drops 
 dashed against the window, and to add to the ter- 
 rific din, a blind blown loose from its fastening was 
 alternately opened by the gale, and then flung back 
 against the window. 
 
 Sylvia covered her ears to shut out the tumult, 
 while Aunt Zilla, her hands tightly clasped, looked 
 as if she believed the destruction of the house to 
 be imminent, and was merely waiting for the struc- 
 ture to fall. 
 
 The gale increased in fury, and the sighing of 
 the wind through the forest was as if a band of 
 demons, out in search of human victims, were ut- 
 tering elfish cries as they sped along. The great 
 front door shook as the wind assailed it, and Sylvia 
 wondered if some one, determined to enter, was 
 fiercely struggling to open it, despite its ponder- 
 ous bolts. 
 
 Small wonder that the two were terrified, for
 
 92 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the lightning was almost incessant; and in their 
 fear, the woman and the girl sat silent, wondering 
 if the storm would ever cease. Somewhere at the 
 rear of the house a tree, twisted by the gale, fell 
 with the crash of splintering wood. 
 
 Sylvia uttered a faint cry that was drowned in a 
 heavy clap of thunder. Loose twigs were flung 
 against the house as violently as if absolute spite 
 had hurled them. 
 
 Then for a moment there would be a sudden 
 stillness, a flash of lightning would make every 
 object distinct, and then, as if with renewed vigor, 
 the tumult would be incessant, and louder than be- 
 fore. The old house rocked. Something out in 
 the kitchen fell with a resounding bang, and Aunt 
 Zilla felt sure that the range must have actually 
 collapsed. 
 
 Then, for a time, the wind lulled, and only the 
 pattering raindrops could be heard, first as if they 
 were giant drops upon the window, and then, as 
 if the fury of the storm abating, it fell more softly 
 like a shower. For a brief respite, even the rain 
 ceased, and in the momentary lull there came a 
 loud, determined knock at the door. 
 
 Sylvia's heart stood still; she sprang to her feet, 
 and leaned staring toward the door, on the other 
 side of which was some one who had knocked for
 
 IN MIDST OF A TEMPEST 93 
 
 admittance ! Aunt Zilla, groping in the darkness, 
 laid a hand upon her arm. 
 
 ' What shall we do ? " she whispered, but 
 Sylvia's lips refused to utter a sound. The knock 
 was repeated. After a pause it was again re- 
 peated, this time with more vigor than before. 
 Whoever stood outside that bolted door was in- 
 sistent. 
 
 '* It may be some tramp that wants shelter out'n 
 the storm, but I'm afeared of him," whispered 
 Aunt Zilla in nothing less than a stage whisper. 
 
 Sylvia made no reply. She was thinking that 
 the door was not very substantial. Would the de- 
 termined knocker burst it open? She trembled 
 in sudden panic as a tremendous pounding made 
 the old door shake. 
 
 Then a voice called: 
 
 "Sylvia! Sylvia!" 
 
 She flew to push back the bolt, and throw wide 
 the door. 
 
 "Oh, Jack! Jack!" she cried, clinging to 
 him, forgetting that his coat was dripping; never 
 questioning his coming, only aware that he had 
 come, and that with him beside her, her terror 
 had vanished. 
 
 It was Aunt Zilla that awoke them to a sense 
 of present conditions.
 
 94 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " I s'pose I'm ter call this young man ' Jack,' 
 since ye don't introduce us, an' fer that matter, he 
 may as well call me Aunt Zilla, 'nstead er Mrs. 
 Bond, but Sylvia, d'ye know his coat is consid'able 
 wet? Let him take it off, an' I'll dry it, an' get 
 some supper. It's likely he's hungry, an' I've jest 
 remembered that with the scare the storm gave 
 us, we've neither of us tasted a mouthful." 
 
 And while Aunt Zilla bustled about making 
 preparations for tea, Sylvia, close beside Jack in 
 the living-room, was telling him of their terror 
 caused by the storm, and how terror had become 
 almost frenzy at the sound of his first knock at the 
 door. She had taken him to the living-room, be- 
 cause the tiny kitchen admitted of no visitors 
 when Aunt Zilla was busy. 
 
 " The sun was shining when I rode out of the 
 station," he said, " and the greater part of the 
 trip was sunny, but as we progressed this way, the 
 sky became overcast, and a cool breeze sprung 
 up. The coach was packed even those who 
 climbed on top sitting close together lest a jolt 
 send them off into the dust of the road, and as 
 I enjoy a tramp hugely, I said I'd walk. The 
 old Jehu who drove that coach told me to keep 
 to the straight road over which he was departing, 
 and I couldn't miss the old Durant house. It was
 
 IN MIDST OF A TEMPEST 95 
 
 already twilight, so I was glad to hear that I 
 couldn't miss it. He shouted after me : ' It's 
 'bout two mile, young feller,' and I started on my 
 tramp. Sylvia, it's not less than four miles of the 
 worst road I ever covered, but it is worth it, 
 Sylvia, just to be with you ! " 
 
 " And to think that it was you, Jack, who stood 
 knocking at my door, which I, listening, frightened 
 half out of my wits, dared not open! "
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PLEADING 
 
 HAPPY in each other's company, all fear of 
 the tempest gone, they were surprised 
 when Aunt Zilla appeared in the doorway 
 to say that tea was so soon ready. 
 
 Aunt Zilla watched them closely as she poured 
 the tea, and served the biscuits. She decided that 
 she liked Jack's honest face, with its clear eyes, 
 and firm, yet pleasant mouth. 
 
 " This will end the plan of stayin' at this old 
 house," she thought, " and I'm glad of it, fer I've 
 had 'nough of it already, an' more than 'nough! " 
 
 She believed that Sylvia's bright eyes were a 
 sure sign that she was far happier with Jack near 
 her, and now that he had actually come in spite of 
 the fact that the two had parted in anger, she 
 never for a moment doubted that Sylvia would 
 listen to his pleading. 
 
 Sylvia was thinking along a widely different line 
 as she talked and laughed with Jack. 
 
 " If he would come here to cheer me through 
 96
 
 PLEADING 97 
 
 the year, and never try to persuade me to give up 
 my task, he might often come, and how happy I'd 
 be ! " she thought. 
 
 Aunt Zilla wondered how much time he had al- 
 lowed for successful pleading. 
 
 " Will ye be able ter spend a week with us? " 
 she asked, unable longer to restrain her eager 
 curiosity. 
 
 "A week!" Jack cried with a laugh. "I'm 
 to leave here to-morrow morning, when I'm told 
 the old stage passes at six." 
 
 " I'd hoped ye'd stay a spell," Aunt Zilla said 
 in evident regret, adding: " The place is lonely, 
 an' yer company cheers." 
 
 " I wish I might," Jack responded, " but it was 
 only after abject begging to be allowed two days 
 absence from the office, and the promise upon my 
 part to work like a Trojan when I returned that 
 I gained this brief visit." 
 
 He wished he might be alone for the evening 
 with Sylvia that he might better reason with her. 
 She would be less likely to yield if another listened, 
 he knew. 
 
 The latter thought flitted through Aunt Zilla's 
 mind, and when tea was over, the table cleared, 
 and the china washed and put away, she went up 
 to her room, determined that Jack should have
 
 98 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 every chance for winning Sylvia to relinquish her 
 determination to remain at the old house. 
 
 A long time she sat thinking, hoping. Heartily 
 sick of the Durant house, and of her promise to 
 stay with Sylvia, she looked to Jack Stanwood as 
 the only person who could induce the girl to leave 
 it, and earnestly she hoped that his pleading might 
 prevail. Fearless she had always called herself, 
 but there was an atmosphere about the house that 
 would have given a harsh test to the strongest 
 nerves. She could not lie down, nor could she 
 lean back in the low rocker. Well forward upon 
 the edge of its seat she sat waiting, waiting for 
 what she could hardly have told. 
 
 Nothing could have induced Aunt Zilla to listen. 
 Indeed she had closed her door upon entering, and 
 deliberately seated herself at the far end of the 
 room, but she thought by the tones of their voices 
 she might guess if things were progressing 
 smoothly. Surely if she should hear Sylvia's mu- 
 sical laugh, she would know that no clash of opin- 
 ion had occurred; but if, instead, only the drone 
 of voices in earnest conversation came up to her, 
 then certainly it would mean that the two were 
 but arguing the matter as they had done before. 
 
 The storm was abating, the gale had spent its 
 fury, but the pattering drops upon the pane told
 
 PLEADING 99 
 
 that the rain had not ceased. To the woman wait- 
 ing, hoping on the morrow to hear that they were 
 to leave the old house, with its loneliness, its 
 strange noises, its air of mystery, came the sound 
 of Jack's voice full of restrained anger. Evi- 
 dently he was in the lower hall, as if about to 
 mount the stairs to his room. Clearly she heard 
 every word. 
 
 " You think your duty is to the dead, rather 
 than to the living. You believe that you must 
 comply with an old woman's whim expressed in 
 her will; but to my pleading that I need you, 
 Sylvia, that I can not bear a long year without 
 you, you turn a deaf ear." 
 
 Sylvia replied in a strangely quiet voice that 
 was barely audible to the anxious listener, but the 
 man's retort came clear and cutting. 
 
 " I am likely to remember," he said. " * A 
 year and a day,' the extra day added, doubtless, 
 because a year isn't suffering enough." 
 
 Not another word, but the sound of firm steps 
 climbing the stairs, passing her door and along the 
 hall. Then the opening and closing of a door at 
 the far end of the hall. Yet a while longer, Aunt 
 Zilla sat anxiously listening for Sylvia's footsteps. 
 Was she intending to remain down there in the 
 lonely living-room all night? She must not be
 
 ioo THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 permitted to do that. She would be sick with 
 fright before morning. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! What a strange girl ! " whis- 
 pered the anxious one. 
 
 After a moment a door opened, and soft foot- 
 steps came unsteadily up the long stairway, as if 
 the person who approached the upper hall cared 
 little whether she ever reached it or not. As 
 softly she crept along the upper landing, and a 
 second later Aunt Zilla heard Sylvia's door close.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ALONE WITH HIS THOUGHTS 
 
 WITH his hands thrust deep in his pockets, 
 Jack paced up and down the room, his 
 shadow on the wall looming tall, then 
 falling short as he approached, or withdrew from 
 the table where the candle sent out its flickering 
 light. After a time, he dropped into a chair, 
 and with his head bent, appeared to be in a brown 
 study. 
 
 As he sat thus, he reviewed every stage of his 
 friendship and love for Sylvia, from their first 
 meeting at the horse show, to the wretched end- 
 ing of what he had believed would be a happy 
 evening. He had promised himself that Sylvia 
 would be easily persuaded to leave the old house, 
 never to return. 
 
 He saw the lights, the flowers, he heard again 
 the haunting strains of the waltz that had always 
 been his favorite and hers, and to which they had 
 swayed in perfect unison. The opera and he 
 seemed to see Sylvia in Aunt Daphne Van Horn's 
 
 101
 
 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 box, the latter woman in heavy brocade and ablaze 
 with diamonds; and Sylvia, exquisitely beautiful in 
 soft white satin and pearls. 
 
 At first Mrs. Van Horn had received him gra- 
 ciously, considering him merely in the light of an 
 agreeable fellow who danced well, conversed well, 
 and was too much a gentleman to presume to the 
 hand of Sylvia, because his own possessions were 
 so meager. That he had a heart she never 
 doubted, but that he should presume to bestow it 
 upon her niece why, really that was out of the 
 question. No gentleman would so far forget 
 himself. 
 
 Mrs. Van Horn had a habit of looking upon 
 those who possessed agreeable manners, but no 
 wealth, as mere automatons who helped to make 
 her parties successful, in return for the priceless 
 honor of having received an invitation to be pres- 
 ent. 
 
 And whether it had been at the opera, at balls, 
 or receptions, Jack had been aware of a great 
 crowd with but one noticeable individual, Sylvia. 
 Then he thought of that wonderful evening when 
 she had told of the stormy scene with her aunt, 
 when having acknowledged that she had given her 
 love to Jack, Mrs. Van Horn had denounced 
 Sylvia as a fool, had arraigned Jack as an upstart,
 
 ALONE WITH HIS THOUGHTS 103 
 
 and had wound up the interview by telling the girl 
 that she did not know her own mind. 
 
 " I'll not permit you to ruin your prospects by 
 such an absurd union," Mrs. Van Horn had cried; 
 whereat, Sylvia had told Jack that she had stoutly 
 declared her love for him, and that she should 
 marry no one else. 
 
 "And I want only you, Jack; and one thing 
 Aunt Daphne said was untrue," Sylvia had con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " She says if I marry you, Jack, she will disin- 
 herit me, and that I'd find you different if I told 
 you that, and you aren't different, dear. You're 
 just the same." 
 
 How lovingly she had nestled against him when 
 he assured her that it was she, Sylvia Durant, that 
 he wanted, and that he could in time make money 
 enough to afford comfort, if not luxury. She had 
 nestled yet closer, with a contented little sigh, 
 murmuring that it was her own Jack, and not 
 money that she wanted, and that Aunt Daphne 
 could keep her wealth, for all she cared, and will 
 it all to charity if she chose. 
 
 ' What has come over Sylvia to so completely 
 change her?" he whispered. Then aloud: 
 " Once I was more to her than all the world. 
 Now, to inherit a few hundred dollars, and this
 
 104 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 desolate old rookery, she is willing no, deter- 
 mined to be parted from me for a year, barring 
 the few weeks that have already passed." 
 
 He thrust out his hands as if he thus might 
 push the wretched thoughts from him, the gesture 
 implying relinquishment rather than despair. He 
 rose and went over to the window and, drawing 
 aside the heavy curtain, looked out into the 
 night. The storm was over, but the wind was 
 still blowing almost a gale. Here and there a 
 star peeped out overhead, now dimly seen, now 
 brightly twinkling, alternately hidden and dis- 
 played by the wind driven clouds. 
 
 For a time he stood thus ; then, snuffing out the 
 flickering candle, threw himself, still clothed, upon 
 the bed, to rest but not to sleep. 
 
 For hours he lay thus, thinking, thinking, so 
 that while his muscles, tired by miles of tramping 
 through the storm, were grateful for relaxation, 
 his mind, when day broke, was far more weary 
 than when he snuffed out the dancing flame.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE DEPARTURE 
 
 JACK arose when the gray light of dawn 
 crept in at the window. Of what use was 
 it to lie there, when sleep had deserted him? 
 Impatient of the darkness that had failed to bring 
 rest; impatient of the dawn that ushered in a new 
 day with every detail of his disappointing visit 
 clean cut and cruelly distinct, he heartily wished 
 that breakfast were already over, the trip back to 
 the city accomplished, and his hands and brain 
 closely occupied with the two days' accumulated 
 mail. Not that work, however engrossing, could 
 blot out disappointment, grief, anger, loneliness. 
 That he knew to be impossible, but there would be 
 moments when matters requiring immediate atten- 
 tion would, for the time, thrust personal interests 
 aside, and he craved even those brief intervals of 
 respite from harassing thoughts. 
 
 There in the old house silence reigned. 
 Neither team nor pedestrian broke the stillness 
 of early morning. Jack opened" the chamber 
 door softly and went down stairs not to the 
 
 105
 
 io6 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 room where, with his arms about Sylvia, he had 
 talked of the joy of once more being with her, 
 and she had nestled so lovingly beside him. In- 
 stead, he turned sharply away from the living- 
 room, and making his way along the dark old hall, 
 drew the ponderous bolts on the oaken door, and 
 went out on to the porch. 
 
 The storm had drenched the garden, and now 
 from every leaf a drop hung pendant. It seemed 
 hardly worth while to walk along the path, damp 
 under foot and overhung with dripping shrubbery. 
 Leaning against the weather-beaten pillar, he 
 watched the bees, already buzzing among the 
 flowers. 
 
 He thought of Sylvia, fair and graceful, her 
 basket on her arm, gathering blossoms, in the hope 
 that their color and fragrance might give a bit of 
 cheer in the somber rooms. 
 
 The strength of will that had resisted all his 
 pleading was a new trait in Sylvia. Was it the 
 " Durant will " that Mrs. Van Horn had so often 
 mentioned? 
 
 At first Sylvia had seemed excited as she had 
 tried to combat his arguments and convince him 
 that he should not try to persuade her to relinquish 
 her avowed determination to comply with the 
 terms of the will. As is ever the case, one word
 
 THE DEPARTURE 107 
 
 had led to another, until, hurt and angry, he had 
 accused her of possessing a mercenary rather than 
 a loving nature; whereat, Sylvia, instead of flush- 
 ing with anger, had suddenly turned white, and 
 had answered with a coldness that was new and 
 strange. When he had turned to leave the room, 
 he had fully believed that she would call him back, 
 and retract, at least in part, the cold words that 
 had cut so deeply, but she did not, and in silence 
 they had parted for the night. 
 
 A faint sound as of the handling of china, the 
 first sound that he had heard in the house since he 
 had risen, told that Aunt Zilla was preparing 
 breakfast. He looked at his watch. In a little 
 more than a half-hour the old stage-coach, if on 
 time, would pass the door. 
 
 " Better not waste much time primpin', young 
 feller, fer we're right on time in the mornin'," Jim 
 Jimson had shouted as Jack was leaving the coach 
 on the night before. 
 
 " Comin' from the deepot, we don't go nigh the 
 Durant house, but in the mornin' we race clean 
 by it, 'n' ye'll hev ter be right out in the road 
 a-waitin' fer us ef ye want ter git aboard." 
 
 Aunt Zilla, pausing on her way from kitchen to 
 the dining-room, espied the wide open hall door. 
 
 " Maybe they're out there a makin' up," she
 
 io8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 said softly, and added, ." Least ways, I hope so." 
 
 She paused a moment, wondering if the two 
 were in earnest conversation. 
 
 " Dear, dear! I ought ter call 'em in. 'F I 
 don't the stage'll arrive 'fore he's half through his 
 breakfast," she whispered, " but I do hate ter go 
 out there. Lovers ain't fond of bein' int'rupted." 
 
 A moment longer she waited, then, without ad- 
 vancing, she called: " Better come in ter break- 
 fast! " 
 
 Receiving no response, she called again, and a 
 bit louder: " Breakfast is ready! " 
 
 She gasped in astonishment when Jack entered 
 the dining-room alone; she looked beyond him, 
 sure that Sylvia must be deliberately loitering in 
 the garden. 
 
 " I've not seen Sylvia this morning," Stanwood 
 said, as if in response to the question that he saw 
 in the shrewd black eyes. 
 
 " I'll call her," Aunt Zilla said; " she must have 
 over slept." 
 
 " Pray don't disturb her," he said so clearly, so 
 coldly, that she resumed her seat from which she 
 had partly risen. 
 
 Then each made an effort to eat, and to appear 
 as if unaware that one whom they both loved was 
 deliberately absent from the table.
 
 THE DEPARTURE 109 
 
 And while the two sipped their coffee, and nib- 
 bled at their toast, Sylvia, still wearing the white 
 gown of the evening before, lay, in heavy slum- 
 ber, just as she had thrown herself down upon 
 her bed. 
 
 She had sat in a low chair by the window for 
 hours, hoping that the soft evening air would cool 
 her burning cheeks, but the arguments, the stern 
 rebuke accusing her of being selfish, and mercen- 
 ary, the gross misunderstanding of her motives; 
 these flitting through her tortured mind had made 
 her head ache, and her cheeks far hotter than be- 
 fore. Believing that she could not sleep, she had 
 not undressed, but in her restless tossing upon 
 her pillow, the pins that had held her bright hair 
 in a loose coil at the base of her head, had worked 
 themselves free, and the hair now lay a glittering 
 mass upon her shoulders. 
 
 It was not until nearly daylight that sleep, 
 blessed sleep, came to blot out, for a time at least, 
 the distracting thoughts that had made rest during 
 the earlier hours of the night impossible. The 
 time for Jack's departure was now so near at hand 
 that at any moment the old stage-coach might ap- 
 pear in sight, and still she lay motionless, heavily 
 sleeping.
 
 no THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Hey, there ! Don't ye git rampageous ! 
 Ye'll hev ter stop ef 'tis down-hill grade, 'cause 
 there's a likely-lookin' chap wants ter, Oh, here 
 ye be. Wai, climb aboard, now. There ain't a 
 minute ter spare ef ye want ter ketch the train! " 
 
 A hasty word to Aunt Zilla, a look into her eyes 
 that showed her such genuine pain, that her sym- 
 pathy shifted from Sylvia's to Jack's side of the 
 argument, and he was off, Jim Jimson having 
 started his horses before his new passenger was 
 actually seated. 
 
 As Aunt Zilla turned from the doorway, a slen- 
 der white gowned figure with flying hair came 
 running down the stairway. 
 
 "Jack, oh Jack! " she cried, " Is he gone, or 
 did I dream I heard the coach? Jack! " 
 
 " Wai, yes, he's gone, an' with four horses ter 
 drag it, I guess 'twouldn't pay ter try ter over- 
 take the coach. The driver said they'd jest 
 barely be in time ter ketch the train ef they didn't 
 waste a minute." 
 
 The girl stood looking at her as if scarcely com- 
 prehending. 
 
 " I wouldn't never hev believed ye'd stayed 
 away from breakfast jest delib'rate, but hevin' 
 stayed, what made ye change yer mind, an' come 
 down? Why, Sylvia, why don't ye speak? Ye
 
 THE DEPARTURE in 
 
 look like a ghost. Surely ye know 'twas strange 
 ter come racin' down jest too late ter even say 
 1 good-by.' " 
 
 But Sylvia, without replying, groped her way 
 along the hall to the living-room, where, sinking 
 into a reed chair near the window, she looked out 
 on the dusty road, with eyes that saw neither 
 sunlight nor shadow. 
 
 Aunt Zilla, in the doorway, stood irresolute, 
 wondering how to treat this new phase of a prob- 
 lem which, ever since the day of their arrival, had 
 puzzled her. On days when the girl had seemed 
 cheerful, Aunt Zilla had gladly fallen in with her 
 mood, but often there had been times, especially 
 when stormy weather had shut them in, when all 
 attempts at conversation had proved futile, and 
 the older woman had relinquished the effort. 
 
 At such times Sylvia was not moody. No one 
 could justly have said that, but the atmosphere 
 of the isolated house, the loneliness, the knowl- 
 edge that for so long a time she must remain there, 
 would prove so depressing that no topic suggested 
 awakened a spark of interest. 
 
 After a few moments' study of the girl's listless 
 figure, Aunt Zilla retired to the kitchen, there to 
 give vent to her feelings with silent walls for 
 audience. She would have mentioned her opin-
 
 iia THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ion of the situation to Sylvia, but she saw that it 
 was hardly a fortunate time for airing her views. 
 Having made much clatter among the dishes, she 
 extended her hand toward the opposite wall as if 
 she believed it capable of hearing, and proceeded 
 to free her mind. 
 
 "What's a body ter do in a case like this?" 
 she asked. " Here's him gone, an' her as blue 
 as a indigo-bag. Ye couldn't make her budge 
 from this place, an' nothin' short o' that would 
 satisfy him. He's a likely young chap as I ever 
 see, an' she's a lovely girl, but she's got the Du- 
 rant will, an' he's got some spunk, so there ye hev 
 it, an' what's ter be did, I'd like ter know? " 
 
 The four grimy walls of the little kitchen 
 proved satisfying in place of a human auditor, and 
 after a few moments she resumed. 
 
 " She's been bright and cheery when the sun 
 shone, but that was before he'd been here, an' 
 they'd had a difference. How will she act now, 
 I wonder? If anything I could do would cheer 
 her, land knows I'd do it, but what would be the 
 thing ter do ? I guess nobody could answer that," 
 she concluded, and she finished the morning's tasks 
 in silence, her monologue having apparently eased 
 her mind.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 HAUNTED 
 
 THE soft haze of early morning had vanished 
 before the warm sunlight that gilded all ob- 
 jects its bright rays touched. 
 
 Tall and dark, the great trees across the road 
 caught never a sunbeam save upon their topmost 
 branches, so that their lower limbs, their heavy 
 trunks, and the stunted underbrush formed a dark 
 and cheerless background for any object that 
 chanced to stand out in the light. 
 
 A single stalk of meadow-rue stood erect in 
 the sunshine at the roadside, its feathery white 
 blossoms and lace-like foliage contrasting sharply 
 against the dark, shadow-haunted forest behind it. 
 
 Sylvia's eyes had been looking out as if into 
 space, her mind closely occupied with thoughts of 
 one whom out of all the world she held dearest, 
 and who now, hurt and angry, was speeding as 
 rapidly as possible away from the village and the 
 girl that he loved. 
 
 Now that he believed her to be mercenary, and 
 "3
 
 ii4 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 obstinate in her determination to win what he 
 supposed to be but a miserable pittance, would he 
 still care for her? Would his love still enfold 
 her, or would his false estimate of her character 
 and motives usurp the place in his heart that 
 hitherto had been wholly her own ? 
 
 Then doubt crept in. 
 
 Had he, up to this time, been entirely her own? 
 Had the wretched rumor uniting his name with 
 Fanny Ardmore's been unfounded? 
 
 A sharp pang at her heart told her how intense 
 was her love for Jack Stanwood; how fearful a 
 thing would be the loss of that love. Then, for 
 the first time, the sun-kissed meadow-rue caught 
 her attention, and she gazed at it, noting its slen- 
 der grace, and beauty. A sigh escaped her lips 
 the first sound that she had uttered since she 
 had sat down by the open window. 
 
 " I am like that," she whispered. " Straight 
 and slender, alone, and with the dark background 
 of Aunt Daphne's scorn, and in the immediate, 
 foreground, Jack's anger, and a year to be en- 
 dured in this terrible old house ! " 
 
 After a time her eyes roved to a spot farther 
 down the road where a slender white birch stood 
 swaying in the rising breeze. 
 
 " Or like that," she whispered, " for I am like
 
 HAUNTED 115 
 
 the birch, too. Every breeze stirs and rocks it. 
 A gale would try to break it, and no other of its 
 kind stands near to help it to withstand the buf- 
 feting of wind or storm." 
 
 It was not odd that Sylvia should make the 
 comparison, for so great was her sense of utter 
 loneliness that the blossoming weed, and single, 
 slender birch seemed strikingly like herself in her 
 present position. 
 
 Aunt Zilla tiptoed softly from the kitchen out 
 into the hall, glanced at the silent figure still sit- 
 ting at the window, and as softly withdrew. 
 
 " No use ter try ter talk ter her while she has 
 any such thoughts as she 'pears ter hev naow," 
 she said. " Mebbe by this time she's some re- 
 gret-tin' keepin' away from breakfast an' lettin' 
 a likely chap like that go off feelin' huffy." 
 
 The cool of early morning had departed, and 
 now the rays of the scorching sun beat down upon 
 the road, making the deep, powdery dust as hot 
 as if a furnace lay beneath it. 
 
 A lean, overgrown lad, tall for his fourteen 
 years, slouched along the road wincing when his 
 bare foot discovered a sharp pebble, then tramp- 
 ing more sturdily than before to imply that if any 
 one imagined that he had flinched, that person was 
 mistaken. Beside him trudged a small boy, who
 
 ii6 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 appeared to feel highly honored that one who had 
 attained the distinction of being fourteen years old 
 would permit a little nine-year-old chap like him- 
 self to walk and even talk with him. The over- 
 grown lad would have scorned to admit that the 
 intense heat was almost too much for him, but 
 when the small boy cried : " Gee ! I got ter rest 
 an' cool off," the older boy saw a chance to take 
 the rest that he coveted, without loss of pride or 
 dignity. 
 
 "All right!" he said, "I could tramp along 
 fer hours yet, but I don't want ter walk the feet 
 off'n ye, so we'll set down here in the shadder fer 
 a spell." 
 
 They had been walking along close to the fence, 
 unseen by Sylvia because of syringa bushes that 
 overhung, and taller shrubs that made a sort of 
 high, uneven hedge. For a time they were silent, 
 then the sunlight, moving aslant the roadway, lay 
 upon their bare feet and legs, a burning band. 
 They crept farther along, still beneath the 
 shelter of overhanging shrubbery, until they were 
 well out of the reach of the sun, and leaning back 
 against the fence, resumed their conversation. 
 They were now nearly opposite the open win- 
 dow where Sylvia sat, and though unseen by her, 
 their words were clearly audible.
 
 HAUNTED 117 
 
 " Well, 'tis haunted. My granther says so, an' 
 I guess he knows." 
 
 It was the older boy who spoke as with au- 
 thority; and with the evident intention of con- 
 vincing his companion that he knew whereof he 
 spoke, he continued: 
 
 " An' he remembers when he was a young man, 
 he went out one night ter meet a feller he knew, 
 an' the way he'd be 'bliged ter go, he'd pass the 
 ol' house; they was no way o' dodgin' it, " 
 
 " What d'he see? " questioned the eager young- 
 ster. 
 
 " Aw, wait 'til I git ter it, can't ye? " snarled 
 the narrator. 
 
 After an irritating pause, made not only for 
 effect, but designed to punish the impatient one, 
 he continued: 
 
 " Wai, granther says he did hate to pass the 
 house like pizen, but he had to, to keep the 
 'pintment with the feller what he knew would be 
 waitin' fer him up the road, so he grabbed the 
 stick he held in his hand tighter, an' thought ef he 
 stepped pretty lively, mebbe he'd git by 'fore any- 
 thing happened." 
 
 Again there was a pause, but this time the small 
 boy, because of the recent sharp rebuke, remained 
 silent. With the unreasonableness frequently
 
 u8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 seen in adults, the lad, previously annoyed by in- 
 terruption, was now offended because none oc- 
 curred. He frowned at his young companion. 
 The small boy took the hint. 
 
 "G'wan!" he said. 
 
 " Oh, d'ye want ter hear what happened? " 
 
 "'Course I do. G'wan, do!" the small boy 
 urged. 
 
 Thus flattered, he resumed. " Wai, 'fore 
 granther reached the house, he see lights appearin' 
 an' dis'pearin', but he kept right on, an' jest as he 
 reached the gate, this gate next where we're set- 
 tin', the light flared up in all the winders, and he 
 heard kind er soft music o' violins an' harps. He 
 was some scared, fer they hadn't nobody lived in 
 that house fer years 'n' years, an' he knew nobody 
 hadn't moved in, fer he'd passed the house 'bout 
 five o'clock an' 'twas jest as empty as it had al- 
 ways been. There, what d'ye think o' that? " 
 
 " My! I'll bet his hair stood on end! " was 
 the answer, in an awed voice ; then wishing to have 
 a share in the telling, he added: " My grandma 
 says she remembers when some one lived there, 
 but she's forgotten who." 
 
 " Yer grandmother's got a gret mem'ry, 'ain't 
 she, Bub? " sneered the big boy, and the small boy 
 made no further attempt to add to the story.
 
 HAUNTED 119 
 
 He could not, however, refrain from asking a 
 question. 
 
 "Did he git by?" 
 
 "Ye're a little greeny! Ef he hadn't got by 
 that time, how'd he be tellin' me 'bout it ter-day? 
 Wai, he took what courage he had, and started 
 ter walk past this gate, the one next where we're 
 settin', and jest when he was in front o' it, a white 
 hand reached out through the picket ter grab him ! 
 Granther says he give one yell, an' raced by, but 
 when he reached the place up the road where he 
 'xpected ter find his friend waitin' fer him, the 
 feller wan't there, and he wa'n't never seen again, 
 an' hain't been heard from, from that day ter this. 
 Come on ! Pa'll give me fits ef I ain't home 
 pooty soon. He's got a job in pickle fer me that 
 I don't hanker fer, darn it." 
 
 They sprang to their feet, and tramped off up 
 the road. 
 
 Sylvia had heard every word, and although she 
 knew it to be an absurd tale, the fabrication of 
 some superstitious villager who enjoyed the sen- 
 sation that such a story would awaken, yet she 
 could not shake off its uncanny influence, and ear- 
 nestly she wished that she had not heard it. She 
 resolved not to repeat it. Aunt Zilla, already 
 convinced that the place was haunted, because of
 
 120 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the strange sounds that from time to time echoed 
 through the house, needed no such tale as the 
 young lad had told to strengthen her conviction, 
 or confirm her statements. Would she hear the 
 tale from some other inhabitant?
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OPINION GRATIS 
 
 AGAIN Aunt Zilla turned her attention to- 
 ward the living-room, but this time she did 
 not " tiptoe " as before. Instead she ad- 
 vanced with determined tread, coming to a full 
 stop directly in front of Sylvia. In her left hand 
 she held a mass of weeds that she had uprooted, 
 in her right a pair of rusty shears. 
 
 " Sylvia, ye must rouse yerself. Ye can't set 
 there all day like that. Not that there's any- 
 thing ye need do, but ye'll get no good out o' 
 worryin' over things that's did, fer what's did is 
 did, while there's a chance that some day when 
 the spirit moves ye, ye kin ww-do it, but jest now 
 I want ter ask ye: Did ye hear the yarn 'bout 
 this place them young chaps was tellin'? " 
 
 " Yes, and I wish I'd not heard it," the girl said 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " I hoped ye hadn't heard it," the older woman 
 replied, " but I was sure ye had. I didn't see them 
 boys as they came along, fer I was on my knees 
 
 121
 
 122 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 in the garding, a choppin' off some tall weeds that 
 looked jest a bit wuss'n the others, an' all at once 
 I heard voices. I'd half a mind ter tell 'em ter 
 stop, drive 'em off, an' tell 'em ter keep away f'm 
 here, but some way I didn't. The place is none too 
 pleasant as 'tis, an' so we don't need the ill will 
 of any of the critters that live here, man or beast. 
 Like 'nough if I'd druv 'em off they'd come back 
 at nightfall ter scare us with some outlandish 
 trick." 
 
 " It was best to say nothing to them," Sylvia 
 replied. " Doubtless I was foolish to heed 
 what they told, but I was sufficiently unhappy be- 
 fore they sat down by the gateway to talk, and I 
 surely am not cheered by the knowledge that this 
 old place has the reputation of being haunted. 
 It's odd," she continued, " that you were hoping 
 that I had not heard it, at about the same time 
 that I was wishing that their story might not have 
 reached your ears. I did not dream that you 
 were in the garden, and so near them." 
 
 Deciding that there was no time like the pres- 
 ent for doing what she considered her duty, Aunt 
 Zilla seated herself upon the extreme edge of an 
 old flag-seated chair, and proceeded to express her 
 opinion, which, however, had not been asked. 
 Her left hand still clutched the clump of uprooted
 
 OPINION GRATIS 123 
 
 weeds, her right held the rusty shears with which 
 she gesticulated, to enforce her meaning. 
 
 " Speakin' 'bout bein' unhappy, Sylvia, I know 
 ye're lonesome here all the time, an' no wonder, 
 but as ter this morning's unpleasantness, ye can't 
 blame a feller what's possessed of any brain at 
 all, ef he goes off some vexed when you, the one 
 he come ter see, let him eat his breakfast alone, 
 an' then don't even appear ter say ' good-by,' 
 until it's too late ter see him, which don't count 
 fer much! " 
 
 Sylvia turned from the window, and for the 
 first time faced Aunt Zilla. Her cheeks were 
 flushed, and her eyes, bright as stars, were dark 
 and angry.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 FOR JACK'S SAKE 
 
 AS suddenly as the color had suffused her 
 cheeks, it receded, leaving her paler than 
 before, and her eyes that for a second 
 had flashed fire, now held a look of quiet deter- 
 mination. 
 
 " It's no use, Aunt Zilla," she said. " You are 
 blaming me without fully understanding the situa- 
 tion. That is exactly what Jack is doing. I 
 have already told you, and I believe you remem- 
 ber it, that this old house is but a small part of 
 the property. I am sure that I told you that be- 
 side thirty thousand dollars deposited in banks, 
 there is real estate in New York, the value of 
 which is yet to be determined. Jack believes that 
 this weather-beaten house, and possibly a small 
 sum of money, is the tempting prize for which I 
 am obstinately staying here, thus making us both 
 miserable." 
 
 " Sylvia Durant, ye're the queerest girl I ever 
 see. There's plenty o' good points in ye, that 
 
 124
 
 FOR JACK'S SAKE 125 
 
 make me love ye, but here an' there there's an odd 
 streak I can't noways understand. Per massy's 
 sake, what is yer object in keepin' Jack in the 
 dark, a lettin' him think ye're stayin' here, and 
 keeping the two of ye apart fer the sake o' win- 
 nin' what's next ter nothin' at all. Sylvia, hev ye 
 any reason fer not tellin' him? Ef ye hev, I'd 
 like ter hear it." 
 
 " Aunt Daphne Van Horn was determined that 
 I should marry, not Jack whom I love with all my 
 heart, but a man whom she had chosen for me, 
 simply and solely because he was wealthy. When 
 I refused, she was furious. She threatened to 
 disinherit me, saying that that would bring me to 
 terms. She accused Jack, my Jack, of caring for 
 me because he believed me to be sole heir to her 
 wealth, and said that when he learned that none 
 of her fortune was coming to me, he'd lose his in- 
 terest." 
 
 " But Sylvia, girl, I can't b'lieve he'd change 
 toward ye fer any such reason as that. I said the 
 minute I set eyes on him : ' That chap is true 
 blue,' an' I still think so." 
 
 " So do I, Aunt Zilla, but Jack does not know 
 how tempting is the prize that I can win, if my 
 courage is equal to the test. I must abide by the 
 terms of the will to obtain it, or, failing to do so,
 
 126 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 forfeit all claim to the property. I know you 
 wonder why I've not told Jack, and I'll tell you 
 now just why I have kept silent. 
 
 " If, when the year has passed, I have been so 
 stanch, so faithful that I have, in spite of the fear, 
 the loneliness, remained here as Aunt Sylvia stipu- 
 lated, the prize will be mine. That prize I have 
 coveted; that with it fairly won, and actually in 
 my possession, I shall be able to refuse Aunt 
 Daphne's words that, ever since she uttered them, 
 have rung in my ears. 
 
 ' You are not quite penniless,' she said, ' but 
 your property is so small that you will be a burden 
 to a poor man, a drag, a foil to his ambition. 
 Your tastes are expensive. To be sure, that is 
 my fault,' she said, ' for I have fostered, and 
 gratified them; but tell me, Sylvia, what can you 
 do to help make a poor man's home comfortable?' 
 It was a cruel speech, but it was the truth. What 
 could I do to lessen expenses for Jack? I could 
 not cook, I've never tried to make a single article 
 of clothing, and I am not sure that I could mend 
 neatly. My cheeks burned with anger, called 
 forth in part by the contemptuous speech, but 
 largely by the fact that my own heart acknowl- 
 edged the truth of her words although I said 
 never a word that admitted that.
 
 FOR JACK'S SAKE 127 
 
 " I was angry that I could not say one word 
 in my own behalf. Aunt Daphne laughed. 
 ' You are well fitted to be the wife of the man 
 that I chose for you, but you are incompetent to 
 deal with problems that would daily confront you 
 in the simple home that Jack Stanwood could pro- 
 vide. Why, Sylvia, you have always had a maid 
 to help you dress. Think of that! As a poor 
 man's wife, you'd be a joke, a hindrance.' 
 
 " I dared not mention Jack's warm and loving 
 heart, or to say that I knew that he would be 
 patient with me, while I was learning to be his 
 helpmate. I did not insist, as I had often done 
 before, that love was far dearer than money, 
 for you know, as all in our family have known, 
 that the reason that Aunt Daphne and Aunt 
 Sylvia could never agree was because Aunt Sylvia 
 loved her husband dearly, and after he passed 
 away, she seemed to care for nothing that for- 
 merly had held her interest. 
 
 " Aunt Daphne married for money, and when 
 she found herself alone in the world, she plunged 
 into the gay social whirl, seeming more infatuated 
 with it than ever. Aunt Sylvia, true-hearted, sin- 
 cerely grieving for the one whom she had loved so 
 ardently, declared Aunt Daphne's course a dis- 
 grace, and an exhibition of flightiness, that be-
 
 ia8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 spoke great lack of respect for the one who so re- 
 cently had been taken from her. Aunt Daphne 
 returned the compliment by calling Aunt Sylvia 
 an absurd and foolish recluse, and the two sisters 
 never met again." 
 
 Aunt Zilla had been listening with rapt atten- 
 tion, never once had she ventured to interrupt. 
 At times, when especially moved, she had waved 
 the handful of wilted, dangling weeds, and once 
 she had carved the air with the shears, but her 
 parted lips and the twinkle in her sharp black eyes 
 told plainer than words that she was fully in sym- 
 pathy with the girl whose friend and companion 
 she had promised to be. 
 
 * Ye're sweet-tempered, Sylvia, an' ye're 
 bright an' quick ter learn, so, in my opinion, ye'd 
 be a blessin' ter whoever ye choose ter wed." 
 
 " I could learn, I believe, to do all the tasks for 
 which Aunt Daphne declared me to be unfit, but 
 I'd not be doing right to let the prize slip through 
 my fingers that would insure freedom from 
 anxiety for Jack." 
 
 " But ye hain't yet told me yer other reason fer 
 tryin' ter win it," cried Aunt Zilla, " an' not tellin' 
 Jack." 
 
 " I will tell you," Sylvia said, " and that is 
 wholly for Jack's sake. Jack now believes, as
 
 FOR JACK'S SAKE 129 
 
 I said a short time ago, that this old house and a 
 wee bit of money is all that keeps me here. 
 Aunt Zilla, I want him to continue to 'think that, 
 even though it makes me look small and grasp- 
 ing to make the sacrifice of living here to attain, 
 apparently, so little. 
 
 " When the property is mine, I can surprise him 
 with the size of my acquired possessions, but 
 greater still will be my delight, when I can tell 
 Aunt Daphne that Jack never dreamed the size 
 of my little inheritance; that he believed me to be 
 foolishly faithful in acceding to Aunt Sylvia's 
 wishes; that throughout the year he supposed that 
 my reward would be meager; that he waited for 
 me because his love was sincere; and that he did 
 not wish to wait, but would gladly have married 
 me on the day that she threatened to cut me off 
 penniless." 
 
 A loud knock at the back door startled Sylvia, 
 while Aunt Zilla dropped both the weeds and the 
 rusty shears. 
 
 "Would ye answer the knock?" she whis- 
 pered.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A PROPHET AT THE DOOR 
 
 WOODBINE overhung the doorway 
 whence the knock had sounded, and tall, 
 heavy shrubbery bordered each side of 
 the walk, so that the entrance was barely visible 
 from the road, unless one knew it to be there, 
 and looked for it. 
 
 Aunt Zilla, on her way through the house, mut- 
 tered remonstrance : " What ever possessed any 
 one to come pokin' round the house ter hunt fer 
 a door to knock on? " 
 
 The rusty bolt at first resisted her effort to push 
 it aside, the sagging door dragged on the sill. 
 Then, unexpectedly it gave way, and opened, dis- 
 closing a singular-looking individual standing on 
 the walk and looking up at Aunt Zilla with a va- 
 cant stare. His coat and trousers were of a 
 rusty hue, bespeaking long service; his hat, an 
 ancient derby, matched their tints to a nicety; but 
 the strangest part of his costume was a length of 
 
 130
 
 A PROPHET AT THE DOOR 131 
 
 gayly flowered calico that was thrown over his 
 shoulder as if intended for a mantle. 
 
 Espying the tall, angular woman in the door- 
 way, he removed his hat, and stood waiting, as if 
 he expected her to bid him welcome. 
 
 ' Was't you that knocked?" she asked, 
 sharply. 
 
 The fellow nodded. 
 
 "Well, what d'ye want?" 
 
 " I'm a prophet, an' I've come ter warn ye, an' 
 woe unto ye if ye don't attend. This house is but 
 a temp'rary abode, an' when the crack o' doom 
 sounds, this dwellin', an' them that's in it will go 
 up in smoke! " 
 
 His voice, when he had commenced speaking, 
 had been low, and its tone monotonous, but the 
 last word burst from his lips in a shriek, so un- 
 expected that Aunt Zilla actually jumped, at the 
 same instant uttering a shrill cry keyed to the 
 same pitch as that of the last word of the 
 prophecy. 
 
 I{ No use ter take on like that, or ter jump about 
 friv'lous, but prepare fer the day o' wrath when 
 in flames the " 
 
 " Crazy as a loon ! " whispered Aunt Zilla, 
 closing and securely bolting the door, and then 
 cautiously peering from the window to learn if
 
 132 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the strange being had departed. A jar holding 
 tall stalks of phlox stood on the window sill, form-i 
 ing a screen from behind which she watched. 
 
 Out on the walk the man stood and for a mo- 
 ment regarded the closed door as if believing that 
 it might again open. He seemed not to be angry, 
 but rather as if vaguely wondering that his 
 prophecy had received no applause, had awakened 
 no enthusiasm. When, however, it dawned upon 
 him that the door was to remain closed, he threw 
 his arms above his head, and, after holding the 
 pose for a moment, dropped them at his side, 
 bowed his head, and chanted a few notes, as if in 
 incantation. Then uttering one long note, like an 
 outcry, he shook his head, and turning, walked 
 down the path to the gate. He paused there, 
 and thrusting his hand into his coat pocket, drew 
 forth a handful of ashes with which he bestrewed 
 his unkempt locks. Again he looked fixedly at 
 the closed door, then strode off down the dusty 
 road, the gayly colored calico mantle fluttering 
 behind him, as if waving adieu. 
 
 Aunt Zilla dropped on the nearest chair. 
 
 " What next? " she said. 
 
 Sylvia, appearing in the doorway, wondered 
 what had startled her. 
 
 "Who tapped at the door?" she asked.
 
 A PROPHET AT THE DOOR 133 
 
 " Why, Aunt Zilla, you look as if you had been 
 frightened. It wasn't the strange-looking man 
 that I saw a moment ago going up the road, was 
 it?" 
 
 Aunt Zilla nodded. 
 
 * Yes, an' he's as crazy as a loon," she replied, 
 " and I wish I thought this would be the last time 
 we'd see him, but I don't. I b'lieve we'll be pes- 
 tered with him from now on." 
 
 Sylvia tried to speak lightly. 
 
 " Oh, perhaps not," she said, although the pros- 
 pect of frequent calls from a lunatic was anything 
 but cheering, and if he were resident in the town, 
 why might he not feel like calling if he happened 
 to be passing? 
 
 " Why did you think him insane ? " Sylvia 
 asked. " Did he talk strangely? " 
 
 "Did he? Why, Sylvia, he thinks he's a 
 prophet! " 
 
 Aunt Zilla forgot her resolve to tell the girl 
 nothing that could frighten her, and she described 
 the happening in detail, watching Sylvia closely 
 the while, as if to note what impression the recital 
 made. As the girl stood quietly listening, her 
 face gave no hint of the anxiety within her. 
 
 " Only we two in this big, lonely house," she 
 thought, " and a man of unsound mind, liable, on
 
 134 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 any day or evening, for that matter, to knock at 
 either of our three doors for admittance, and 
 Jack so far away! " 
 
 She caught her breath. An appalling sense, 
 greater than ever before, of the utter loneliness 
 of the situation, of their absolute inability to pro- 
 tect themselves from any one who might choose 
 to annoy them, swept over her, and for a mo- 
 ment she could not speak. 
 
 Aunt Zilla, believing that her description of the 
 happening had failed to impress the girl because 
 it had not been sufficiently harrowing, proceeded 
 to repeat the man's alleged prophecy, laying great 
 stress upon the fact that he had seemed dis- 
 pleased, and that he had left the house muttering. 
 Sylvia was vainly endeavoring to summon sufficient 
 bravery to speak boldly, when, suddenly, help came 
 from an unexpected quarter. 
 
 Laddie had all this time been lazily dreaming 
 the hours away, sprawled luxuriously on a braided 
 rug in the upper hall, whence he had taken him- 
 self to sleep off the effect of an over-generous 
 breakfast. He now appeared in the doorway be- 
 side Sylvia, rubbing against her, and looking up at 
 her with eyes that bespoke his faithful love. 
 
 A sense of having suddenly found a protector 
 whom, for the moment, she had forgotten dwelt
 
 A PROPHET AT THE DOOR 135 
 
 beneath the roof, gave her new courage, and she 
 spoke bravely. 
 
 ' The man who so frightened you may be 
 harmless, even if unbalanced; and in any event, 
 remember, we have Laddie, and no one would 
 harm us with Laddie here." 
 
 Aunt Zilla looked at the dog, and an expression 
 of relief passed over her face, followed, a second 
 later, by a shadow of doubt. 
 
 " I do'no' how much of a pertector he'd be," 
 she said dubiously. " He seems too gentle ter 
 defend anything, 'less it might be a bone that he 
 didn't want some other dog ter git away from 
 him, but he looks well here, an' he's got a power- 
 ful bark. I declare if I'd thought of him, I'd 
 have called him out ter the door ter int'view the 
 prophet, an' I'd seen what he'd do." 
 
 Laddie's sudden appearance in the doorway 
 had surely cheered them.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A REBUFF 
 
 EARLY morning, dew-laden, and with the 
 scent of flowers in the air, found Sylvia 
 down in the riotous little garden, feeling 
 happier than when, from her chamber window, 
 she had looked out upon the mass of varied color. 
 Her soft muslin gown clung to her slender fig- 
 ure, showing its grace, its rounded beauty as she 
 walked slowly up one weed-grown path and down 
 another, gathering the finest blossoms that there 
 might be some bits of cheering color in the gloomy 
 rooms. Always it had been her habit to sing 
 softly over little tasks, but she seemed to have 
 forgotten to sing. There was no piano in the 
 old house, but had there been one, she was hardly 
 in the mood for music. One sings when light- 
 hearted, and Sylvia Durant had not been truly 
 light-hearted since " The Three Birches " had 
 sheltered her. Now that Jack had come and 
 gone; gone, and without a word from her at part- 
 ing because, in her extreme weariness of mind and 
 
 136
 
 A REBUFF 137 
 
 body, she had overslept, she was more lonely 
 than before. 
 
 What was life without Jack? Tears filled the 
 sweet eyes, brimmed over, and plashed upon the 
 flowers in her hand. 
 
 "How-d'yedo!" 
 
 " Oh, who can that be, and to have caught me 
 crying! " she thought, and bending yet lower over 
 the flowers she seemed not to have heard. 
 
 " Good morning." 
 
 This time it was useless to pretend that she did 
 not hear, unless she wished to imply that she was 
 stone-deaf, for the words were clearly spoken. 
 She turned to reply. It was fortunate that Luke 
 Elmore was not sensitive, for surely the expres- 
 sion that followed the first glance of surprise on 
 Sylvia's face was not one of delight. 
 
 " Good morning," she said in a low voice, and 
 continued gathering flowers, as if she expected him 
 to pass. 
 
 " I came to ask if I might take you for a drive 
 this afternoon? " 
 
 He saw the quick flush on her cheek, and 
 added: "Oh, not because I think my company 
 would give you great pleasure, but because there 
 are parts of Blossomville that are prettier than 
 this, and as they are too far from here for a
 
 138 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 walk, I asked you to make the little trip in my 
 buggy." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, " but I cannot go. I 
 have something that I must do this afternoon." 
 
 She disliked the man, and found it difficult to 
 hide her disgust for his abundant confidence, his 
 persistence at times when it seemed incredible that 
 he could not realize that his attention vexed her. 
 Hunger for Jack, grieving because apart from 
 him, made Elmore's persistence almost unbear- 
 able. It was impossible to discourage him. 
 Rarely was there a day that he did not loiter in 
 passing. 
 
 Usually he remained to chat. His first ad- 
 vances had been made, he had declared, in neigh- 
 borly spirit. He had professed great sympathy 
 with their loneliness, and fear in the old house. 
 He had listened with apparent interest to Aunt 
 Zilla's complaining of the terrifying noises that 
 she declared kept her " nerves on the jump." He 
 had searched the premises in the hope of finding 
 the cause of the disturbing sounds that had 
 earned for the " Three Birches " the reputation 
 of being haunted. These efforts had won for 
 him the approval of Aunt Zilla. Sylvia had at 
 first felt very grateful for his many kindly acts, 
 but when it became only too evident that his neigh-
 
 A REBUFF 139 
 
 borly interest was assumed for the sole purpose 
 of forcing a more intimate acquaintance with her- 
 self, she drew back, and thereafter, when he came 
 in for a " neighborly call," he had the uninter- 
 rupted opportunity of being as neighborly as he 
 liked with Aunt Zilla. 
 
 Sylvia was determined not to be openly rude 
 to man, woman, or child whom she might chance 
 to meet in Blossomville, but she was equally de- 
 termined to repulse any curious questioner, and to 
 the doughty squire to turn the cold shoulder per- 
 sistently. Therefore, when the basket that hung 
 from her arm was well filled with the flowers that 
 she had been gathering, she turned toward Elmore, 
 who, still leaning upon the fence, had been ad- 
 miringly regarding her, and said coolly : ; ' I 
 am going in now to arrange these flowers, and 
 there are other things I must do. Good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 She went slowly up the path to the porch. He 
 should not accuse her of childishly running away. 
 
 He regarded her in amazement. It was un- 
 believable that there existed a girl who would 
 not welcome nay, be eager for any attention 
 that he might choose to bestow. 
 
 "What have I done?" he asked as an over- 
 grown lad might have asked it.
 
 140 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Nothing whatever," she said, not pausing, 
 but looking over her shoulder as she neared the 
 porch, " but I must go in now." 
 
 He laughed. " I feel as if / must, too," with 
 a clumsy effort to take the evident rebuff play- 
 fully. 
 
 "I have some letters to write," she said; 
 " Good morning." 
 
 He watched the graceful figure as it ascended 
 the steps, crossed the porch, and vanished in the 
 hall, the great door swinging to, but not latching. 
 
 Vaguely he wondered if she would relent, and 
 return to the porch for a word with him, lest her 
 coolness might lose for her his friendship. 
 From the time that he had scraped together the 
 small sum that had purchased a tiny farm to the 
 present time, when he held the coveted reputation 
 of being the one moneyed man of Blossomville, 
 he had been flattered by his neighbors, until he 
 believed his friendship to be a priceless boon that 
 he could bestow or withhold at will, thus causing 
 unspeakable happiness or absolute despair. 
 
 Believing the old house to be Sylvia's sole in- 
 heritance, he considered that the girl was reck- 
 lessly standing in her own light. That she cared 
 for another never entered his stolid mind. Her 
 slender left hand wore no emblem to show that her
 
 A REBUFF 141 
 
 heart was pledged to another; therefore, he had 
 never questioned if she were free. His was a 
 stubborn nature, used to carrying out whatever his 
 mind conceived to be to his advantage. 
 
 Probably if a rumor of her love for Stanwood 
 had reached him, it would not have prevented a 
 determination upon his part to win her. He had 
 come to believe that because he had succeeded in 
 one thing, nothing existed that he could not con- 
 quer and make his own. 
 
 Looking up from the desk where she sat writ- 
 ing, Sylvia was amazed and angry to see the 
 Squire, still leaning upon the fence, and looking 
 toward the house. The letter, a rather long one, 
 written in reply to one from her lawyer, was 
 nearly finished, and she had intended taking it at 
 once to the office. Again she glanced toward the 
 window at the far end of the room. From where 
 she sat he could not see her. Sylvia realized that 
 he was hoping that, if he waited patiently, she 
 might reappear. 
 
 " This ought to be mailed at once," she whis- 
 pered; then with a smart tap of her little foot, she 
 added: " but I won't go out to mail it while he's 
 out there, if I have to wait all day. He'd tramp 
 all the way to the store and back again with me, 
 and I can't bear that."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 BUSYBODIES 
 
 THE dusty road gleamed white in the sun- 
 shine, and the high blueberries that grew 
 in the field beyond turned their bloom- 
 covered berries to court its rays, or to attract the 
 attention of two old women who were working as 
 if in frantic haste to fill their pails. 
 
 A long time they had picked in silence, the drop- 
 ping of the berries upon the bottom of their tin 
 pails making a lonesome note, the only sound that 
 broke the stillness. 
 
 The heat was intense. 
 
 A great crow flew cawing overhead, but the 
 smaller birds were silent. A hot breeze, laden 
 with the fragrance of the pines on a little distant 
 knoll swept across the field, and blew back the 
 flapping brim of the sunbonnet from the face of 
 the one who was apparently the elder of the two, 
 showing a thin dark countenance lighted by a pair 
 of bright black eyes, whose expression of cunning, 
 
 142
 
 BUSYBODIES 143 
 
 together with the thin-lipped, tightly closed mouth, 
 gave a face which was rather unpleasant to con- 
 template. 
 
 The other woman, as she turned to drop an- 
 other handful of berries into her pail, glanced at 
 her companion with a look of mingled curiosity 
 and impatience. She was a stout, elderly woman 
 with a mild, characterless face, whose only expres- 
 sion, if it could be said to have any, was that of in- 
 quisitiveness that had long been chronic. 
 
 After waiting with ill-concealed annoyance, she 
 extended a pudgy fore-finger, and poking it directly 
 under the brim of her companion's sunbonnet, 
 ejaculated: " Dorcas Dale, be ye asleep, er hev 
 ye forgot what ye was goin' ter tell me? " 
 
 " I wa'n't asleep, an' I hain't forgot what I had 
 ter tell. I was jest waitin' till I'd got good'n' 
 ready," snapped the offended Dorcas. 
 
 " No 'fense, I'm sure," was the answer, " only 
 I thought I'd like ter hear it, whatever 'twas." 
 
 The older woman, somewhat mollified, hung 
 her pail on a short sturdy twig, and facing about 
 remarked: " 'P'raps it won't be new ter ye, that 
 the ' Three Birches,' has got a tenant, but I'll bet 
 ye hain't seen 'em yet, an' I hev! " 
 
 " I know they's a gal, an' a skinny woman, but 
 haow they ever dared ter come there, or hevin'
 
 H4 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 arriv', haow they darest ter stay beats me," was 
 the answer, " but that ain't news, Dorcas, fer 
 we've known that since we heared it the day after 
 they fust come." 
 
 Her voice bespoke disappointment. She had 
 expected a rare bit of gossip. 
 
 " What I jest said ain't news, but what I've 
 got ter tell is! The gal is a beauty, an' the thin 
 woman looks ekal ter the job er keepin' house fer 
 her, which is likely what she's there fer, an' they 
 do say Squire Luke Elmore is jest tremenjous 
 taken with her," Dorcas concluded. 
 
 " With which, Dorcas? " whined the other im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " With the gal, an' Keziah, they do say the gal 
 ain't at all took with him." 
 
 "Well, why should she be?" Keziah asked 
 coolly. " He's middlin' plain." 
 
 " He's got means! " cried Dorcas, with as de- 
 termined a voice as if lack of admiration for the 
 Squire were a personal injury to herself. 
 
 " Means! " drawled Keziah. " Why, Dorcas, 
 a pretty gal likes money, of course. The two 
 seem ter go tergether, but if she has ter choose 
 one or t'other, she'll choose the poor feller what's 
 some takin', an' let the dull clumsy feller with 
 the money slide ! But, say ! Don't ye wonder
 
 BUSYBODIES 145 
 
 if they ain't scaret with the noises that folks keeps 
 tellin' is soundin' there jest continooal? " 
 
 " Everybody ain't as sup'stitious as you be," 
 retorted Dorcas, " but speakin' fer myself, I can't 
 say I should hanker ter stop there over night." 
 
 " I guess not," said Keziah, her colorless eyes 
 showing absolute terror at the thought. 
 
 " 'Twa'n't more'n three months ago that ol' 
 Abram Frickson was passin' there at twilight," 
 she continued, " an' he heared all sorts o' noises 
 comin' from garret to cellar, an' tho' he had con- 
 sid'ble rheumatiz, he cut fer home like mad, an' 
 he ain't walked past there since. 'Bout a week 
 before these folks ye're talkin' of moved in, Zeke 
 Johnson's boy was up by there, a-drivin' one o' 
 the cows home that had strayed away, an' he seen 
 lights 'way up in the cupelow, an' he licked that 
 cow, an' they made fer home at 'bout the same 
 speed that ol' Frickson did, an' the neighbors say 
 ye couldn't tell when they reached home, which 
 was the most scaret the boy or the cow. I 
 tell ye, I wouldn't go nigh that place fer any- 
 thing." 
 
 ' Wai, I would, an' I'm go'm' ter! " announced 
 Dorcas. 
 
 "Ye don't mean it!" her sister cried. "Ye 
 wouldn't never dare ventur there."
 
 146 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Yes I would, as I said afore," Dorcas re- 
 torted sharply, " an' I'm goin' up there ter call an' 
 see her, no them, jest as soon as I git my best 
 dress done that I'm turnin' an' makin' over as I 
 git time." 
 
 '' What be ye goin' fer? " Keziah ven- 
 tured mildly, adding with more spirit: "They 
 mightn't be int'rested ter see ye." 
 
 " I ain't goin' 'cause I think they're achin' ter 
 see me," was the cool response. " I'm goin' ter 
 see what the gal looks like that knocked Luke 
 Elmore all of a heap. He's been needin' some 
 er the starch taken out'n him fer some time, 'n' 
 I've always been 'bout wild ter see the inside er 
 that old house. Old Mrs. Durant, when she 
 lived there, didn't want ter know any er the 
 Blossomville res'dents, an' she didn't spare nary 
 effort that would make 'em r^lize that callers 
 wouldn't be welcome." 
 
 " I'm as curus ter see the inside o' the ' Three 
 Birches ' as you be, but there ain't nothin' that 
 could tempt me ter ventur inside the door." 
 
 Dorcas turned toward her sister a- face that 
 definitely expressed her disgust. 
 
 " I guess I'm ekal ter goin' alone, ef I see fit," 
 she said coolly, " an' this I'll .tell ye : Ef my 
 dress is done by Saturday, I shall put it on, an' go
 
 BUSYBODIES 147 
 
 straight over there ter make a call on 'em, sure's 
 my name's Dorcas Dale ! " 
 
 Keziah felt that something must be done to 
 dissuade her sister from running the fearful risk 
 of entering the old house that all Blossomville 
 believed to be haunted. With much effort she 
 bent her bulky form that she might set her pail 
 upon the grass, then straightened up, and laying 
 her hand upon her sister's arm, spoke more ear- 
 nestly than before. " Look here, Dorcas, I wish 
 ye'd give up the notion 'bout makin' that call. 
 There ain't no use in it, an' I don't want ye 
 harmed. Ye know the last pusson that went 
 there, afore these new folks come, was ol' Bar- 
 bara, that ol' What's-his-name, the lawyer, sent ter 
 clean the place up after Mis' Durant, what up 
 an' died, had went. I guess nobody hain't fergot 
 what happened. Ol' Barbara went in, jest 
 shiverin' with fear. Bein' some orderly, she 
 meant ter start at the attic, an' clean clear through 
 down ter the cellar, but she didn't, an' ye well 
 know why. The attic was full o' bats, an' one 
 on' em flew off with her wig, an' she raced from 
 the house, an' went tearin' up the road, bare- 
 headed as ol' Deacon Leffinton, nary a spear o' 
 hair on her head, an' her a screamin' an' cryin' 
 that a witch was after her."
 
 148 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " As I ain't wearin' a wig, it stands ter reason 
 I ain't 'fraid er losin' one, an' I'm jest de-tar- 
 mined ter call there ! " Dorcas replied stoutly. 
 
 " Wai, I wish ye joy! " cried Keziah, angrily, 
 annoyed that her advice had made no impression. 
 
 For a long time neither woman spoke, each 
 applying herself to the task of filling her pail, 
 until suddenly the sound of wheels approaching 
 attracted their attention, and Keziah turned her 
 bulky form around so hastily that she hit her pail, 
 and barely escaped spilling her berries. 
 
 " Good land ! It's nothin' but the coach, with 
 Jim Jimson atop of it. By the way ye nudged 
 me ter look at it, I didn't s'pose it was anything 
 less'n somebody's shay!" 
 
 "Did ye see the gal in it?" Dorcas asked 
 eagerly. "Di</ye?" 
 
 " I didn't notice nobody but Jim Jimson, an' 
 I all but spilt my blueberries a-doin' that. What 
 gal was aridin' in the coach? " 
 
 " Sylvia Durant, the one I've been tellin' ye 
 lives at ' The Three Birches.' I declare I do 
 wish ye'd seen her." 
 
 " It's likely I will sooner or later," Keziah re- 
 plied calmly, u an' whatever she looks like, I 
 wouldn't go inside that house ter see her, I kin 
 tell ye that."
 
 BUSYBODIES 149 
 
 " There ain't no call fer ye ter go if ye don't 
 want ter," Dorcas said curtly, and the two re- 
 turned to their berry picking, working for a long 
 time in silence. 
 
 When their pails were filled, they left the field, 
 and still silent, trudged along the road toward 
 home, Dorcas walking with her habitually reso- 
 lute tread; her sister, with slow, plodding steps 
 that made it impossible for her to keep up. 
 
 Arrived at their cottage door, Dorcas drew a 
 key from her capacious pocket, and turning it in 
 the lock, allowed her sister to pass in first; then 
 following her, she locked and bolted the little 
 door, and sighed with satisfaction, as if with a 
 feeling of security in their tiny domicile. Later, 
 when the table was set, the two old women sat 
 down to a frugal meal. One might have thought 
 that they had forgotten how to talk, for in si- 
 lence they ate their toast and drank their tea. 
 At last Keziah spoke. 
 
 " Dorcas, be ye still thinkin' o' the ol' house, 
 an' the gal what's livin' there? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, I be, an' so be you, er ye wouldn't think 
 ter ask it," Dorcas answered. ' I was jest 
 thinkin'," she continued, " 'bout a story that's 
 been circ'latin' round the town ever sence some 
 time before the gal, Sylvia, come there ter live.
 
 150 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 It's 'bout the room on the far side o' the house 
 right next ter the side door where the swingin' 
 sign hangs out an' squawks every time the wind 
 wags it." 
 
 Keziah's eyes were eager, and she leaned for- 
 ward to catch every word. 
 
 " They do say that in that 'ere room they is 
 fearful things, an' there don't nobody know 
 what. The fact that it's nailed up makes every 
 one in Blossomville 'bout wild ter find out what's 
 in there." 
 
 " Ef ye go there, fer massy sake git a peep inter 
 that room, Dorcas, an' tell me what ye seen? " 
 
 " How on airth am I ter git a peep inter a 
 room what's nailed up?" questioned Dorcas in 
 disgust. 
 
 " Then what's the use'n goin' 'f ye ain't goin' 
 ter see nothin' whilst ye're there? "
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 FOOD FOR GOSSIP 
 
 ALTHOUGH aware that the smallest hap- 
 pening in Blossomville was considered an 
 event, that motiveless acts were talked of 
 in a manner that gave them undue importance, it 
 did not occur to Sylvia that the fact that she rode 
 home from the village store in the stage-coach 
 would set tongues wagging, but it did. 
 
 She had gone over to the office for the mail, and 
 had promised herself a short rest, and a chat at 
 the Wiley farm on the way back. The heat had 
 been intense, the walk longer than usual, and 
 when, with her letters in her hand, she left the 
 store, it seemed to her, that the long walk back to 
 the " Three Birches " would be unendurable. 
 
 Outside the store the sun beat down upon the 
 dusty road, and the group that usually hung 
 around the " office " took note of Sylvia's bright 
 hair, the spotless white of her gown, her trim 
 figure, was there anything that was not men- 
 tioned? As she turned to cross the road, she 
 
 151
 
 152 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 came face to face with the Squire who was on 
 his way to the post-office. 
 
 His face flushed with pleasure as he greeted her. 
 He seemed never to notice a lack of enthusiasm 
 upon her part. Did he think it natural reserve, 
 or was he determined to ignore it? 
 
 Sylvia saw that he at once turned, without hav- 
 ing called for his mail, evidently intending to walk 
 back with her, and yes, without doubt, to linger 
 in the little garden, or on the porch for one of his 
 tedious calls. 
 
 A shout from Jim Jimson, and the sound of 
 wheels announced the arrival of the stage-coach. 
 Sylvia saw a chance of escape. 
 
 " If you are going past the house," she said 
 looking up at Jimson, " I think I'll let you take me 
 home. I am tired, and it is a long walk." 
 
 " Sure, I'll take ye, Miss Sylvia, an' 'twon't 
 cost ye nothin' seein's I'm goin' by there any- 
 how." 
 
 She laughed, sprang into the coach, turned and 
 nodded coolly to the discomfited Squire, and 
 was off down the road, the sole occupant of 
 the old coach which rocked from side to side as 
 if it really enjoyed running away with Sylvia, and 
 believed itself to be perpetrating a good joke. 
 
 Luke Elmore stood staring at the receding
 
 FOOD FOR GOSSIP 153 
 
 coach, his eyes wide with astonishment as if he 
 barely comprehended how the thing had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 "Wa'n't that pretty slick?" questioned Nat 
 Gates, with a chuckle. 
 
 ' The Squire has had a idee that any gal he 
 see fit ter notice would be tickled ter death," said 
 a young farmer who had long envied Luke El- 
 more's prosperity. 
 
 " I guess 'most any of the Blossomville gals 
 would walk from Dan ter Beersheby ef Elmore'd 
 walk with 'em," Nat Gates responded, " but a 
 city gal like Miss Sylvia has doubtless seen quite a 
 number o' men better-lookin' than him. Not but 
 what he looks well 'nough, but he ain't what I'd 
 call takin', ef I was a gal." 
 
 " Oh, ye ain't a gal, so haow d'ye know what 
 sort er chap ye'd be took with ef ye was?'" 
 queried a young fellow who had just entered, and 
 Nat's response was drowned in shouts of laughter. 
 
 There were valuable papers for which Luke 
 Elmore had been anxiously waiting, and he be- 
 lieved that they had already arrived at the office, 
 but the crowd of habitual loafers had seen his dis- 
 comfiture, and he decided to send one of his farm- 
 hands over later for his mail, rather than enter 
 the store where all eyes would be turned upon
 
 154 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 him. He was a bit disheartened, but not dis- 
 couraged. A little time, and his persistence 
 would be rewarded, he believed. 
 
 In the old coach, rocking and swaying with 
 the antic galloping of the lean sorrel nags, Sylvia 
 congratulated herself on having so easily escaped 
 the long walk home attended by the Squire. His 
 clumsy efforts at badinage, his compliments, his 
 ardent speeches were tiresome to a degree that 
 bored Sylvia almost beyond endurance. Often 
 she had longed to silence him by telling him 
 frankly that she was pledged to another, and that, 
 for that reason, his attention was not only idle, 
 but annoying, but always before the words were 
 uttered would come the thoughts that daily 
 haunted her: "Does Jack hold me to that 
 pledge? He is angry with me now, and he is si- 
 lent. Am I still his?" She knew, too, that a 
 man of Elmore's stamp would question her 
 closely; would ask, if it were an actual engage- 
 ment, why no ring proclaimed the pledge ? Why 
 her fiance, if such he was, never was seen in the 
 village; and countless other questions that she 
 could not, and would not answer. 
 
 It would be wiser, she believed, to avoid him, 
 whenever possible to do so, to appear as if in- 
 capable of understanding his bold hints of his
 
 FOOD FOR GOSSIP 155 
 
 regard for her, and, above all things, to tell him 
 absolutely nothing of her affairs, or herself. 
 
 "Whaow! Can't ye?" shouted Jim Jimson 
 as they reached the house. " Take's all the 
 whack I got ter git them critters started, an' I vum 
 it's nigh impossible ter stop 'em when they once 
 git goin'. Whaow I " 
 
 The yellow door flew open, and Sylvia sprang 
 to the ground. 
 
 " No use, Miss Sylvy," cried the driver, as he 
 saw her open her little purse. ; ' I don't want 
 no pay fer the pleasure er bringin' ye home, an' 
 savin' ye a good half-hour of the Squire's talk, 
 an' likely more. All the pay I want is the chance 
 ter give ye a lift 'nother time when some one is 
 tryin' ter pester ye with his comp'ny uninvited. 
 G'lang! " 
 
 He was off on his lurching trip down the road 
 before she could thank him. 
 
 Laddie whined a welcome through the pickets 
 of the fence, and pranced wildly about as she 
 pushed the gate open, to express his great delight 
 at her return. 
 
 " I must take you with me next time," she 
 whispered, as she laid her hand on his head. 
 
 From the first Aunt Zilla had called the town 
 and its people " newsy." She had been disgusted
 
 156 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 with the wild interest that her arrival with 
 Sylvia had provoked, and with the persistent ef- 
 forts of the residents to " pump " her. To all 
 she had given the briefest of replies, thereby 
 earning the reputation of being " close-mouthed." 
 One who had vainly tried to question her retal- 
 iated by telling her this. 
 
 " I'd 'nough sight prefer folks here would call 
 me ' close-mouthed,' than ter hev them say my 
 mouth was always open," she had responded, and 
 thus had closed the interview. What would she 
 have thought had she known that before Sylvia 
 had reached home, the news that she " rid home 
 in the coach instead er walkin' ; an' she done it ter 
 dodge the Squire, an' he, completely floored, stood 
 a-lookin' after the coach as it dis'peared behind the 
 willers at the curve o' the road! " 
 
 Even the two old berry-pickers had caught the 
 fever of curiosity, and the braver of the two was 
 already planning a fitting costume with which she 
 might appear at the door of " The Three 
 Birches," and knock for admittance. 
 
 Sylvia, for the first time, glanced at the three 
 envelopes that thus far she had held tightly 
 clasped in her hand. Laddie watched her face as 
 closely as if he hoped to learn by her expression
 
 FOOD FOR GOSSIP 157 
 
 if the writing on the envelopes were familiar, and 
 if the arrival of the letters gave her pleasure. 
 She walked slowly up the path, Laddie close beside 
 her, and the two entered the living-room, Sylvia 
 taking a low chair by the window, and the dog 
 dropping upon the floor beside her, his soft eyes 
 looking up at her, admiring and watchful. 
 
 The first envelope contained only a notice of a 
 sale of fashionable millinery, and Sylvia smiled as 
 she thought how little money need be expended 
 for millinery if one resided in Blossomville. She 
 wondered how Madame Morene had obtained 
 the present address of her former customer, Sylvia 
 Durant, but caring little, laid the envelope and 
 card upon the table, and opened the next. 
 
 "Aunt Daphne Van Horn!" she exclaimed, 
 
 'What can have moved her to write?" The 
 
 date, written with great care, " My dear Sylvia," 
 
 penned with even greater evidence of painstaking, 
 
 and then : 
 
 ' You will be surprised to hear from me, I am 
 sure, but I feel it my duty to write to you at this 
 time, because I believe that long before this you 
 have regretted your folly in leaving the fine home 
 that was yours, so long as you chose to comply 
 with my wishes. You were willful, and heedless 
 of consequences, and it must be that to-day you 
 would be glad to return to me. For myself, I
 
 158 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 will say that I miss you, and that, in part, is a rea- 
 son for my invitation that bids you return to all 
 the comfort and luxury that my home has ever 
 afforded you. 
 
 " There is another reason for this letter with 
 its plea that you return, and that is the very un- 
 pleasant comments that your course has set in 
 circulation. 
 
 " I am accused of having turned you from my 
 door, of having made an exile of you, by banish- 
 ing you from polite society, and forcing you to 
 live in that house in which my sister Sylvia spent 
 her last years, and, as a glorious heritage, willed 
 to you. 
 
 " Fancy forcing a Durant to do anything! I 
 did not think I would ever ask you to return if, of 
 your own volition, you left me; but now I give 
 you the invitation. It is for you to accept, or 
 decline. Awaiting your reply I am, 
 
 " Your faithful Aunt, 
 " DAPHNE VAN HORNE." 
 
 Sylvia laid the letter on the table, just as she 
 had placed the milliner's card, and opened the 
 third envelope. It proved to be a hastily written 
 note, and was brief and to the point: 
 
 " DEAR SYLVIA : 
 
 " Not having received any response to my let- 
 ter written some time since, I am wondering if 
 possibly you are ill. Don't bother to reply to this 
 hasty note, as I shall take a little trip to your re- 
 treat, and look in upon you.
 
 FOOD FOR GOSSIP 159 
 
 " Anticipating the pleasure of being with you, 
 and enjoying a long, delightful chat, I am, 
 " Sincerely your friend, 
 
 " IRMA DELWIN." 
 
 " ' Sincerely my friend '? What does it mean? 
 Once before she has written to me, taking the op- 
 portunity to tell me things that, if true, could 
 hardly give me pleasure; and now, although that 
 letter was not in any way acknowledged, she writes 
 again. I had only a slight acquaintance with her, 
 when I was with Aunt Daphne. What prompts 
 her now to take the long trip to come to this place, 
 solely for the pleasure of a call upon me? " 
 
 These were the disturbing thoughts that flitted 
 through Sylvia's mind, and a strange sense of un- 
 easiness came over her. 
 
 Vaguely she felt that something stronger than 
 an idle whim impelled Irma Delwin to leave her 
 beautiful summer home, her friends, her pleasures 
 for a trip to an isolated country house and a lonely 
 girl who, for a time, was living there.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE TREETOPS 
 
 AUNT ZILLA appearing in the doorway, 
 espied the letters lying on the table; and 
 Sylvia, her hands listlessly clasped, and 
 her head bent as if she were in a brown study. 
 
 "Didn't they cheer ye?" Aunt Zilla asked 
 kindly. 
 
 She loved the girl, and, now that she under- 
 stood her motive, sympathized with her in her de- 
 termination to abide by the terms of the will, and 
 win the legacy. 
 
 " There was nothing in them that could cheer 
 me," Sylvia said. " One was a card from Ma- 
 dame Morene who used to make my hats when 
 Aunt Daphne paid for them. I've no use for fine 
 millinery here, and that is fortunate since I surely 
 have no money to squander. One was from Aunt 
 Daphne, urging me to come back to her." 
 
 " That was kind, I'm sure, an' wonderful in 
 her ter do it, seein's she really turned ye out, 
 an' her a willful spec'men what almost never takes 
 
 160
 
 FROM THE TREETOPS 161 
 
 back anything she's said, or gives in in any way. 
 I call her kind o' gen'rous. Don't you?" 
 
 "Generous!" cried Sylvia, as if scorn had 
 aroused her. "Generous!" she repeated. 
 " She asks me to return because there are times 
 when a lull in festivities causes a few dull hours 
 for her. Then, and then only, does she feel the 
 need of me. Her strongest reason for recalling 
 me, however, is that the story is being circulated 
 among those with whom she is most intimate, 
 representing her as having turned me from her 
 home, and compelled me to live in this lonely 
 place." 
 
 " Ye wouldn't go back to her, Sylvia, so of 
 course the letter only stirs ye up," Aunt Zilla said 
 gently. 
 
 " And the third envelope contained a brief 
 note from Irma Delwin, a girl with whom I am 
 barely acquainted, who once before had written 
 to me, and who now declares that she is coming 
 here to call upon me. Coming to look this shabby 
 old house all over, to pretend regret for my lone- 
 liness, to make me in some way less happy than 
 I now am. Oh, Aunt Zilla, why couldn't they let 
 me alone? Aunt Daphne will be more angry 
 than before, and Irma will go back to tell every 
 one who knows me, how dull a life I'm living,
 
 162 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 how dilapidated the house is, and the description 
 given by her will lose nothing in the recital." 
 
 " I remember ye wasn't over-pleased with the 
 letter some one sent, but I didn't remember what 
 her name was," Aunt Zilla said; then, as if to 
 comfort her she added: " Don't worry, Sylvia. 
 Like 'nough she's such a careless butterfly, she'll 
 be so full of good times where she is, that all 
 thought of a trip here was out of her mind before 
 the letter was mailed." 
 
 " I don't know what I'd do without you, Aunt 
 Zilla," Sylvia said gratefully, " for now you un- 
 derstand fully why I am here, you help me, not 
 only with the work of your two hands, but with 
 your ready sympathy. But about the promised 
 call from Irma, there's little use in hoping that she 
 will not arrive. She has some especial reason for 
 coming, and we may see her at our door at any 
 time." 
 
 " Ef she's plannin' ter upset ye, I hope some- 
 thin'll happen ter detain her right where she is," 
 was the tart reply, and Sylvia's heart echoed the 
 wish. 
 
 Soon after Aunt Zilla had left the room to pre- 
 pare an early tea, Sylvia noticed that a cooler 
 breeze was blowing the curtains at the window 
 where she was sitting, and upon looking out, saw
 
 FROM THE TREETOPS 163 
 
 that ragged, gray clouds were scudding across the 
 sky. It was not a hint of approaching storm; 
 rather it showed that the wind had shifted. 
 
 Aunt Zilla's vaunted bravery wilted completely 
 when a thunder storm was in progress. From the 
 window Sylvia could see her walking up one path 
 and down another, her calico apron over her head 
 for protection, her small black eyes peering out 
 from its sheltering folds to scrutinize the sky, in 
 search of, yet dreading to see thunder clouds. 
 
 After a hastily eaten meal, during which they 
 talked but little, Aunt Zilla cleared the table, and 
 then produced a volume in which were described 
 at length and with infinite detail the lives and tor- 
 tures endured by numerous martyrs. Sylvia 
 never saw the book, save at times when Aunt Zilla 
 believed a heavy storm imminent. Then it was 
 brought forth, and diligently read until the storm 
 was over. 
 
 " How can you read that book, Aunt Zilla? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " It steadies my nerves," was the prompt reply. 
 " I'm dreadfully afeared o' thunder 'n' light- 
 nin', but when I'm readin' o' them poor critters in 
 this book that was burned at the stake, an' branded 
 with hot irons, I do declare, the storm don't seem 
 like much ter bear, however rampageous 'tis."
 
 1 64 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Sylvia found little entertainment in the volume 
 that she had chosen from the corner bookcase, and 
 idly she turned its pages, reading nothing and only 
 glancing at the pictures. She knew that she could 
 make but one reply to Aunt Daphne's letter : a re- 
 fusal to return, but she felt unequal to the efforts 
 of writing even the brief note that should tell 
 Mrs. Van Horn that her appeal had been useless. 
 
 As she sat listlessly turning its pages, a great 
 regret for Jack's loneliness filled her heart, and 
 pity for herself kept it company. If Jack were 
 lonely, he could at least find congenial company 
 at his club, and surely, even if little interested in 
 what the theaters were offering, he could, if un- 
 bearably lonely, spend a few evenings there. 
 
 " But what is there here in this old house, or 
 in the town itself with which I can banish sad 
 thoughts, or for even a few hours, so occupy my 
 mind that, for the time being, I can smother my 
 longing for him? " 
 
 She had unconsciously whispered her thoughts, 
 and Aunt Zilla, always nervous, looked up at her 
 with startled eyes. 
 
 '' Was that you whisp'rin'? " she asked. 
 
 Before Sylvia could reply, the breeze tore a 
 blind from its fastening, flinging it back against 
 the house with a crash. The old swinging sign
 
 FROM THE TREETOPS 165 
 
 creaked, and the branches scraped along the roof. 
 Then came a lull, so abrupt as to be startling. 
 
 Suddenly a hoarse, croaking voice broke the 
 stillness, chanting a monotonous song if such it 
 could be called the air indescribable, the words 
 so mumbled that they were unintelligible. 
 
 Strangely enough, although the chanter ap- 
 peared to be out of doors, the weird sounds 
 seemed to be high over head. 
 
 "Sylvia it's awful! It sounds as if it, or he 
 must be on top o' the roof, and how could he, or 
 it, or they git there? " 
 
 " It's only one voice," Sylvia said, with an ef- 
 fort keeping her own voice steady. 
 
 " Only one ! Wai goodness knows that's 
 'nough, ain't it? " whispered Aunt Zilla, and then 
 for a moment the two were silent listening. 
 
 Still the strange, monotonous sounds continued, 
 as if there were no limit to the endurance of the 
 chanter, and no end to the chant. 
 
 " Sylvia, it's fearful ter jest stand here an' 
 listen," whispered Aunt Zilla, no longer able to 
 keep silent. 
 
 'What else can we do?" came the softly 
 whispered response. 
 
 ;< I don't know, but seems ter me I'll hev ter 
 do somethin' ter stop that awful singin', er go
 
 1 66 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 crazy ! " Aunt Zilla exclaimed in a stage whisper. 
 
 " Then do something," Sylvia answered, laugh- 
 ing at the desperate assertion, in spite of her gen- 
 uine fear. 
 
 " I don't see how ye kin laugh, when some one 
 is hangin' round this house, an' singin' in that 
 awful voice that would tell anybody that they's 
 somethin' wrong 'bout the pusson, whoever 'tis," 
 came the retort that told that the older woman 
 was vexed with what she termed the " frivol'ty " 
 of the girl. 
 
 And whether they whispered, or were silent, the 
 droning, nasal-toned voice continued its chant upon 
 one note, now soft, now louder, until Aunt Zilla 
 felt that she had reached the limit of her en- 
 durance. 
 
 " Somethin' has got ter be did ! " she said, under 
 her breath," an' I'm a-goin' ter do it! "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AN ALARMING PREDICTION 
 
 SHE crossed the room to the window, and 
 peered out into the darkness. At first 
 nothing stood out clearly. The garden was 
 dark, and shadowy, the old gate indefinite, the 
 road beyond, unreal, and but vaguely seen. The 
 tall trees formed a solid mass of darkness, save 
 near their tops, when the spreading of their 
 branches showed them, in lace-like silhouette, 
 against the sky. 
 
 She looked upward, and noticed the lighter 
 branches swaying as if set in movement by a 
 gentle breeze. Ragged clouds, dark, and fog-like, 
 now thin and scattered, now heavily massed, were 
 driven across the sky. The heavy cloud masses 
 obscured the moon completely, but the tattered 
 fragments that trailed in their wake showed the 
 silver disc endeavoring to illumine the night. A 
 heavy cloud bank passed before her, making the 
 garden darker than before; then, as it passed, the 
 moon shone forth, and all objects stood revealed. 
 The shrubbery, the old fence, the road, the trees, 
 
 167
 
 1 68 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 stay ! What was that high up in the tall elm 
 opposite the window? 
 
 Aunt Zilla pressed her face against the glass, 
 and strained her eyes to determine what it was. 
 Clouds once more obscured the moon, and she 
 waited for them to pass. 
 
 "Sylvia!" 
 
 The girl crept to the window beside her. 
 
 ' They's somethin', er somebody up in that 
 elm. Wait till the moon comes out an' you'll 
 see." 
 
 The tall elm stood apart from the mass of 
 trees beyond, and as the clouds parted, they saw, 
 high up among the branches, a huddled mass that 
 was rocked and swayed by the wind. Again dark- 
 ness hid the object, then again the moon burst 
 forth, and the elm and its occupant stood out 
 clearly against the sky. Aunt Zilla pointed a long 
 finger at it. 
 
 "It is singin', whatever 'tis!" she said, "an' 
 Sylvia, I'm a-goin' ter go ter the door with the 
 broom in my hand and shout ter it, an' tell it ter 
 go 'way ! " 
 
 " Oh, don't open the door, or shout," Sylvia 
 cried. " Just let it alone. It's safer, I know, not 
 to do anything. Come! We can go up-stairs." 
 
 " I'll not go upstairs 'thout fust tryin' ter drive
 
 AN ALARMING PREDICTION 169 
 
 the critter out'n that tree ! " Aunt Zilla declared 
 stoutly. ' Why, Sylvia, we couldn't noways man- 
 age ter sleep with that thing up there, a-singin' like 
 that. I tell ye, he er it, whichever 'tis, is disturb- 
 in' the peace, an' I'm that riled, I can't rest till I've 
 disturbed him! " 
 
 She was now far more angry than afraid. The 
 persistence with which the wearing monotone con- 
 tinued had aroused her almost to fury, and it was 
 with no gentle hand that she snatched the broom 
 from its hook in the back entry, and opened the 
 door. 
 
 Sylvia, gaining a little courage, because of 
 Aunt Zilla's newly developed bravery, peered 
 from the window, her fear mingled with amuse- 
 ment. How would the dismal chanter take Aunt 
 Zilla's interruption? 
 
 She raised the window that she might hear the 
 colloquy. 
 
 "Hi, there! Say! Stop that noise! " Aunt 
 Zilla's voice was powerful, when she chose to test 
 its strength. The chanting continued. 
 
 " Say ! Will you stop that racket? " 
 
 Still the droning continued unabated. Aunt 
 Zilla's wrath now obliterated all thoughts of fear. 
 
 ; ' I'll give ye jest 'nough time ter git out'n that 
 tree 'fore I fire a brick! "
 
 170 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 No word of reply was uttered, but slowly, cau- 
 tiously the girl at the window, and the angry 
 woman at the door, saw what appeared to be a 
 bundle of clothes descending. Sylvia crept to the 
 door. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Zilla!" she whispered, "I wish 
 you had let him alone, for I do believe it is that 
 dreadful man that thought himself a prophet. I 
 mean the crazy manl " 
 
 " Wai, ef 'tis, I'm jest crazy ter see him," was 
 the cool response. 
 
 Sylvia crept back, and with a low whistle, called 
 Laddie to her side. Sound asleep on the rug near 
 her chamber door, he heard and went bounding 
 down the stairs to do her bidding. 
 
 " Hush-sh-sh ! " she whispered, as she closed 
 firm fingers on his collar, and the dog, seeming to 
 catch her meaning, sidled closer, awaiting orders. 
 Again she looked out. 
 
 Whoever the being was, he had clambered down 
 to within three feet of the ground, and there he 
 paused as if trying to decide whether to drop the 
 small distance to terra firma, or to return to the 
 crotch where he had been perching. Suddenly he 
 landed on the ground, and approaching the house, 
 resumed the chant that his descent had interrupted.
 
 AN ALARMING PREDICTION 171 
 
 Sylvia could now hear the words, as well as the 
 dismal tones. 
 
 ' Woe unter sinners! Fire shall swaller 'em! 
 Lions shall eat 'em ! Tears an' lam'tation shall 
 not save 'em. I am a prophet, an' I can foretell. 
 Dee struction, and des'lation shall be their portion, 
 'less they repent, an' listen ter me." 
 
 Pushing aside the gate, he walked half way up 
 the path, and paused there, as once before, only 
 this time he wore no head-covering that he could 
 respectfully remove. 
 
 ' Wai, ye're here at last, after singin' folks ter 
 death, and what I called ye down out'n that tree 
 for is this : Folks wants peace, durin' day an' 
 evenin', an' then they want ter sleep, an' nobody 
 could read, think, or sleep with that awful noise 
 ye was makin'. Now jest git! Keep away from 
 here! D'ye understand? I won't hev ye 'round 
 here a-singin' through yer nose, an' givin' us the 
 horrors with yer tunes that hain't got no tune to 
 'em, an' yer words that don't mean nothin' 'tall." 
 " Ma'm, I hung my mantle on the bushes, an' 
 dumb a tree ter sing ye a warnin'," he replied, in 
 an aggrieved tone. 
 
 ' Ye may consider ye warned us 'nough, an' 
 git out, an' stay 'way from here, fer I tell ye now,
 
 172 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 we've got a dog here, an' I got a broom, an' " 
 The sentence remained unfinished, for at the men- 
 tion of the dog, the prophet forgot his anxiety for 
 their welfare, and thinking only of his own, fled 
 through the gateway, in haste that banished 
 dignity.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 AN UNWELCOME CALLER 
 
 THE locust-trees cast a cool shadow over the 
 low garden-seat, and Sylvia, from her 
 chamber window, looked down and thought 
 the spot inviting. A small red book lay upon the 
 table, a pencil beside it. 
 
 As she turned from the window, she noticed 
 the little book, and picking it up, turned its pages 
 forward and back, as if the act were idle, and her 
 thoughts elsewhere. She had purchased it, in- 
 tending to keep a record of expenditures, her 
 thought being that her income was so small that 
 much care would be needed, if " both ends " were 
 to " meet." On the first page she had carefully 
 penned the date of their arrival, and from time to 
 time items of expense and notes of happenings 
 had kept each other company, until the red book 
 had become a droll little diary and account book 
 combined. For some days she had made no en- 
 tries, but several pages were closely filled with 
 hastily written notes. 
 
 173
 
 174 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Sylvia took the book down to the garden, and 
 seated on the old bench in the shade of the locust 
 trees, with a riot of blossoming shrubs, and tall 
 phlox and balm, all about her, she read again the 
 entries in the little book. The garden seat 
 seemed placed in a veritable bower, so tall and 
 full of bloom were the shadowing locust trees, so 
 prodigal of their sweetness were the old-fashioned 
 garden flowers and blossoming shrubs. 
 
 The road to the village lay at the right of the 
 house, if one stood facing it, and the forest road 
 at the left. The little nook in which the girl now 
 sat was at the side of the garden nearest the for- 
 est road, and that fact added yet another charm 
 to the lovely spot, for Luke Elmore invariably tra- 
 versed the village road, and from any point on 
 that road as he passed, it would be impossible 
 for him to see her. 
 
 Hoof-beats approaching nearer, nearer, made 
 Sylvia catch her breath. 
 
 " Oh, I hope he'll go by ! " she whispered, and 
 then a comforting thought flitted through her 
 mind: " He has stopped many times to ask for 
 me, when, although I've been sitting here in this 
 very spot, he has not seen me." 
 
 The horse was walking slowly now, and through 
 small openings in the foliage, she could see both
 
 AN UNWELCOME CALLER 175 
 
 horse and rider, although herself unseen. She 
 saw that the " Squire," as he was usually called, 
 was closely scrutinizing the garden in hope of see- 
 ing her. She wished that he would pass but he 
 did not. Springing to the ground, he slipped the 
 bridle over a peg that stood out on the stringer 
 of the fence. No one could guess for what use 
 it was originally intended, but just now it served 
 very well for a hitching-post. 
 
 With confident bearing he walked along the 
 little path from the gateway, mounted the steps, 
 and was about to lift the knocker, when Aunt 
 Zilla opened the door. 
 
 She had seen him dismount and hastened to 
 greet him. She was possessed of the idea that in 
 their lonely position, any one who could be claimed 
 as a friend should be encouraged, and try as she 
 would, Sylvia could not dissuade her from show- 
 ing Luke Elmore especial favor. Sylvia heard 
 him inquire if he might see her. 
 
 ; ' I think she's gone out," Aunt Zilla replied, 
 then as if to soften his evident disappointment 
 she added: "I heard her comin' down stairs, 
 but her hat is here in the hall, so she's not far 
 off. Why don't ye come in an' wait? " 
 
 ' Thanks, I'll not come in this time. Perhaps 
 I shall be lucky enough to overtake her. Do you
 
 176 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 happen to know if an errand took her to the vil- 
 lage, or if she is only out for a stroll? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know 'bout any errands," Aunt Zilla 
 replied. " Ef she went ter the post-office she 
 went that way, but when she's just walkin' fer the 
 sake er walkin', she's apt ter go that way toward 
 the woods, the land knows why. I wouldn't." 
 
 " Sometimes I wonder if she wishes to avoid 
 me," he said in a low voice, yet not so low but 
 that the words came clearly to Sylvia in her hiding 
 place. 
 
 Her cheeks burnt at Aunt Zilla's reply. 
 
 " Oh, don't ye be uncomfortable thinkin' that," 
 she said, adding, " girls will have their little 
 ways." 
 
 ; ' Why does she persistently smooth his ruffled 
 feathers? " Sylvia said to herself, angrily. " She 
 knows I detest him, she knows I want no one but 
 Jack to care for me, and it makes his absence 
 harder to bear, when one whom I dislike is forever 
 here ! " 
 
 It was not the first time that Aunt Zilla had en- 
 deavored to aid the Squire, and to imply that she 
 was extremely friendly toward him. 
 
 ;< Why does she do so?" Sylvia said softly. 
 " In all other matters she sympathizes with me."
 
 AN UNWELCOME CALLER 177 
 
 She saw him turn at the gate to lift his hat, and 
 as a last straw, she heard Aunt Zilla say: 
 
 " Come again." 
 
 She had meant, as soon as the horse and rider 
 were out of sight, to leave the garden, and go in- 
 doors, where in the cool living-room she would 
 try to forget her own anxieties while reading of 
 the trials endured by some heroine of fiction. 
 The brief conversation that she had overheard 
 had changed the plans. She was too angry now 
 to at once meet Aunt Zilla. She would talk with 
 her regarding her persistent attitude of extreme 
 friendliness toward Elmore, but she could not 
 trust herself to do that just now. A quiet talk 
 was what was necessary. Aunt Zilla possessed 
 a hot temper, and Sylvia knew that she herself 
 could not speak in the way that she believed would 
 be most convincing until she had had a little time 
 in which the heat of her own anger could abate. 
 
 Mrs. Van Horn's letter still lay on the table in 
 her chamber, unanswered. For that, too, she had 
 been waiting for calmer moments, in which to 
 reply. 
 
 Irma Delwin had said that her note needed 
 no reply, as she should soon arrive. Why had 
 she thought of coming so far to see a girl with
 
 178 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 whom she had never been intimate ? Overtopping 
 all the petty annoyances was the fact of Jack's 
 absence, and his silence. Yet she constantly asked 
 herself why she so looked for a letter, a word 
 from him? Had she not told him that he must 
 not write to her unless he could do so without 
 pleading with her to abandon the old house and 
 whatever bit of property went with it, and give 
 herself at once to him? Had she not also said 
 that he must remain away from her unless he could 
 then, also, refrain from making his plea even more 
 urgent ? 
 
 How glad she had been when he had arrived 
 in the midst of the tempest, had taken her in his 
 strong arms and hushed her fears, had whispered 
 the loving words that he could so tenderly say; 
 and then, oh, how harsh he had been when he 
 had found her firm, and unyielding in her de- 
 termination to withstand all his pleading? Not 
 a day passed, however, that she did not look 
 with quickening heart-beat for a letter from Jack, 
 and when two and three letters from others were 
 placed in her hands, the disappointment was so 
 deep, so harsh, that she wished that she had sent 
 Aunt Zilla for the mail. 
 
 She thought she could have borne the depres- 
 sion easier in her own room than out in view of
 
 AN UNWELCOME CALLER 179 
 
 the group of idlers that always lounged around 
 the store and watched, with lynx-like eyes, the re- 
 cipients as they took the letters given them. 
 Often she had heard their comments, regarding 
 their neighbors. 
 
 " That letter in the big onwalope didn't please 
 Mrs. Topson a bit. Know what 'twas, don't ye? 
 I do. I seen it fore she did. It's a bill, an' I 
 could tell ef I wanted ter who it was from, fer I 
 seen the feller a-makin' it out." 
 
 " Did ye see that young feller grin when he got 
 the post-card? 'Twas from his best gal, I bet 
 ye." 
 
 Sylvia knew that the idlers would as quickly 
 comment upon her reception of the letters that 
 came to her, equally free to say that she was dis- 
 appointed, or that she looked pleased, as the case 
 might be.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A LONG ROAD 
 
 IT was still early in the forenoon, and the cool 
 breeze sweeping across the garden, set the 
 tall phlox dipping and swaying. 
 Something in its rythmic motion, together with 
 the soft wind fanning her cheek, calmed Sylvia, 
 and she was glad that she had not rushed into the 
 house, after Elmore's departure to give the sharp 
 reproof that her anger had prompted. After all 
 it was pleasanter in the quaint old garden, and 
 there would be time enough to talk with Aunt 
 Zilla later. Possibly after tea would be a good 
 time, when twilight came. She would, by that 
 time, have thought how best to open the subject. 
 So much depended upon how one approached Aunt 
 Zilla, that she might not be testy and refuse to 
 listen. 
 
 Over the balm, the bronze-throated humming 
 birds hovered, thrusting their slender bills into the 
 scarlet horn-like blossoms in search of sweets. 
 Pale yellow butterflies flitting in and out, now in 
 
 180
 
 A LONG ROAD 181 
 
 shadow, now in sunshine, seemed like winged sun- 
 beams at play in the old garden. Sylvia watched 
 them, dancing, flitting, always in pairs, happy little 
 care-free lovers. 
 
 " Jack and I were as happy as they, and almost 
 as care-free a short time ago," she murmured. 
 
 She was thinking of the gay life at Aunt 
 Daphne's when Jack Stanwood had, by his pres- 
 ence, doubled her delight in every social event. 
 
 And when at last the long period of waiting was 
 ended, and the legacy secure in her own hands, 
 then, with what joy would she tell Aunt Daphne 
 that she, Sylvia Durant, was no longer dependent 
 upon a tiny income ; that she could marry the man 
 of her choice with the proud knowledge that she 
 would not be a " burden." She would have, also, 
 the greater joy of telling Mrs. Van Horn that 
 Jack had supposed that the old house formed the 
 bulk of the inheritance, and that he had begged 
 her to relinquish it and agree to marry him with- 
 out delay. Ah, it would be sweet then to refute 
 Aunt Daphne's malicious statement that Jack 
 Stanwood had been attracted to her niece, largely 
 because he believed that this niece would be sole 
 heir to the Van Horn millions. 
 
 And Jack was true, she told herself, even al- 
 though silent, because he could not be other than
 
 182 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 true. What caused the faint tremor, the vague 
 feeling of anxiety, whenever she told herself that 
 Jack would love her the same through the en- 
 forced absence, that he would be true, that at the 
 end of the " year and a day," they would, with- 
 out delay, be reunited? 
 
 A long road, scorching in the hot August sun- 
 shine, a rambling stone wall over which the dust- 
 laden vines grew like a mantle that covered a vast 
 amount of ugliness, a field on the other side of 
 the wall, and in that field but a short distance 
 from the road, a man hard at work with pick and 
 shovel. He had dug at some depth, for only his 
 head and shoulders appeared above the surface. 
 It was hardly a spot where one would think of 
 locating a well. No farm-house, or other build- 
 ing was in sight. 
 
 The heat was intense, yet the man appeared un- 
 aware of it, for surely if the sun rays were an- 
 noying he would adorn himself with the hat that 
 lay within easy reach. Not that the hat would 
 be considered an adornment for the average male 
 head, but the head that appeared and disappeared 
 alternately was surely not an average head. In- 
 deed it was outrageously unusual in appearance.
 
 A LONG ROAD 183 
 
 The hair was matted, and of indescribable color, 
 having patches of red above the receding fore- 
 head, locks of sandy coloring overhanging the 
 ears, while at the back, the two colors were im- 
 partially mingled. 
 
 Often he paused, not as if weary, or heated, 
 but, rather as if he feared the approach of some 
 one, for he shaded his dull eyes with a huge, 
 grimy hand, and peered warily about him. 
 Then, as if satisfied that no one was in sight, he 
 would resume work, with a vigorous swing of the 
 pick that bespoke abundant strength. For a time 
 he worked so steadily that one might have thought 
 that he had forgotten, or relinquished his watch- 
 fulness; then, as abruptly as if impelled by sud- 
 den fear of capture, he dropped the pick, and 
 again, with anxious scrutiny, peered from un- 
 der his hand, inspecting the corners and bound- 
 aries of the field. His dull eyes never lighted, 
 so that it was the pose of his body, its nervous 
 straining muscles and its quick, wiry turning that 
 no part of the field lay unobserved, that plainly 
 depicted fear. 
 
 He did not at once resume work, but, instead, 
 gazed vacantly across the field, glancing upward 
 at a huge crow whose flapping wings attracted
 
 184 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 his attention. Suddenly he clasped his rough 
 hands, and with bowed head, stood muttering. 
 Was it prayer, or imprecation? 
 
 At the far end of the road a clump of willows 
 leaned eagerly out as if to chat or gossip with 
 the row of alders on the opposite side. 
 
 Possibly they were commenting upon the sud- 
 den appearance around the bend, of a pretty fig- 
 ure that tripped along at a rapid pace, pausing 
 at times to know if dust were accumulating on 
 her smart shoes. 
 
 She was a bright spot on a dusty, sun-scorched 
 landscape. Her muslin gown of pale pink was 
 faultlessly made, the open neck fastened with a 
 large damask rose contrasted wonderfully well 
 with the soft cream of her skin. 
 
 She knew that. She knew also that the leghorn 
 hat with its wealth of pink and crimson roses was 
 just the sort of hat to wear with the gown, and 
 that its shape and coloring were extremely be- 
 coming. 
 
 She had set out upon the little journey with the 
 determination to reach Blossomville to see the old 
 house, but, of far greater importance, to see Sylvia 
 Durant and to tell her a few facts that she might 
 not know. There were those who called Irma 
 Delwin a pretty girl, and doubtless the term fitted,
 
 A LONG ROAD 185 
 
 but it never pleased Irma to hear herself thus 
 described. Pretty was not enough. 
 
 " Who ever heard any one speak of Sylvia Du- 
 rant as ' pretty ' ? " she had often said to herself, 
 and at another time: "She is always called 
 ' beautiful,' or ' lovely,' or ' striking ' ! Of course 
 she is, but why are the reporters so obtuse?" 
 The question puzzled Irma, but there could be 
 but one reply to any unprejudiced observer who 
 saw the two girls. 
 
 Sylvia's features were regular, her figure fine, 
 and her carriage erect and graceful. Her color- 
 ing was unusual, and striking, and added to all 
 these attributes was a lovable disposition that 
 made itself felt in her sweet voice, her expression, 
 and manner. 
 
 Of Irma far less could be said. Stylish she 
 surely was to the point of looking like a fashion- 
 plate, but that fact and her really fine coloring 
 were all that could be said. Her doll-like face 
 lacked expression. The face can not express what 
 the mind and character lack. Her small eyes 
 were nearly black, her hair flaxen, her little mouth 
 inclined to pout, and her nose, her poorest fea- 
 ture, was small and of no especial type. With 
 such features the face might have appeared child- 
 like, only for the eyes that were far from inno-
 
 1 86 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 cent. Those eyes could at times show cunning, 
 an ability for scheming, or jealousy according to 
 what chanced to offend their owner. 
 
 Jim Jimson had played a joke upon her an 
 hour before, and she now fully realized it. 
 
 Bringing his horses to an abrupt stop when 
 about half-way between the station and the Durant 
 house whither she had told him to take her, he 
 had leaned over and shouted to the blonde head 
 that at that moment was thrust out of the window 
 below him. 
 
 " Say, Miss ! Ye'll hev ter git out here. This 
 is as near as the stage goes ter the ol' Durant 
 place." 
 
 "Are you speaking to me?" Irma had asked 
 pertly. " If you are, please keep on driving. 
 You said you'd take me there, and I shall not get 
 out until we reach the house ! " 
 
 1 'Squarter past 'leven. Ye'll be in this coach 
 some time, fer we don't pass the Durant place but 
 twice a day; six ter-night, an' jist after daylight 
 ter-morrer mornin' ! " 
 
 'You can't mean that!" she had gasped, to 
 which Jimson had cooly replied : 
 
 " Oh, I've said wuss things 'n that, an' meant 
 'em, too, 'n' what I said was true. This 'ere coach 
 don't go no nigher 'n this ter the Durant place,
 
 A LONG ROAD 187 
 
 so 'f ye really want ter git there, ye'll hev ter 
 hoof it, f'm here ." 
 
 Irma, completely disgusted, pushed wide the 
 door, and sprang to the ground, walking swiftly 
 away in the direction that a fellow passenger had 
 designated. Her cheeks were burning, and her 
 eyes bead-like in their anger. 
 
 After a short distance, however, the thought 
 of what had moved her to take the trip, drove 
 away the frown, and, for a time, she had walked 
 as if on air. Really, the jaunt was worth while. 
 The road proved to be longer than it looked, 
 however, and she was just beginning to wish that 
 there were a human being within hailing distance, 
 when the sound of a pick striking the earth came 
 to her ears. She paused to listen. 
 
 " Really, there is a living creature in this hor- 
 rid place," she said, and hastened forward to in- 
 quire if she were on the right road. 
 
 Irma felt that the driver of the stage-coach 
 had allowed her to depart with never a thought 
 as to whether she ever reached her destination 
 or not. With his thumb he had pointed over his 
 shoulder toward the road that she was now on, 
 but she had walked until weary, and still no house 
 was in sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 IRMA ARRIVES 
 
 1RMA sped along forgetting that she was tired, 
 that her new shoes were instruments of tor- 
 ture, that the dusty road seemed endless. 
 
 Here at last was some one who could tell her 
 if she were on the right road, and if not, set her 
 straight. He was still standing with his head 
 bent over his clasped hands, and his muttering 
 reached Irma's quick ears. 
 
 The man, unaware of her approach, moved 
 about in the hole as if shifting from one foot to 
 the other, but his eyes remained closed, and his 
 muttering continued. 
 
 Irma stood watching him. She was waiting 
 until he should cease praying. 
 
 One minute, five, ten, and the sun scorching. 
 
 " Is he going to pray all day? " she whispered; 
 then, wholly out of patience, she spoke sharply: 
 
 " Will you tell me if I am on the right road 
 to reach the old Durant house? " 
 
 188
 
 IRMA ARRIVES 189 
 
 Without apparent surprise at being thus inter- 
 rupted, he turned and stared vacantly at her. 
 
 " He's deaf as a post," she whispered, and 
 raising her voice she repeated the question. 
 
 He did not move, and his dull eyes never 
 changed. Irma made a supreme effort and fairly 
 shrieked: 
 
 ' The Durant house, I say ! I want to find 
 it?" 
 
 " Did ye lose it? An' ef ye find it, an' lose yer 
 soul what then? " he asked in a low voice. 
 
 Suddenly with a shout he flung his arms above 
 his head. 
 
 "The crack o' doom is 'bout ter sound! 
 Houses shall fall, men shall cling ter the ones, " 
 
 He was climbing out of the hole, and Irma, in 
 terror, fled along the road, running like the wind, 
 never once daring to look back. 
 
 She ran until, stumbling over a stick that lay 
 across her path, she nearly fell, but saved herself 
 by catching at the branches of an alder beside the 
 road. Then, for the first time, she looked back 
 over the road that she had traversed, and was 
 relieved to see that no shambling figure followed. 
 
 The Wiley farm lay at the left of the road, a 
 little ahead of where she was now standing. As 
 she passed it she saw that the house stood far
 
 190 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 back from the road, and that no one was in sight 
 upon the place. 
 
 She would not stop to inquire. After all, that 
 other passenger in the coach had said: 
 
 " If ye keep on that road ye can't miss it." 
 
 Irma decided to keep on. 
 
 Fortunately all journeys have an ending of 
 some sort. Irma's ended just as she wished, for 
 at the junction of two roads, the one that she had 
 traveled, and another was a triangular shaped 
 garden, and beyond the garden the strange, old 
 house. 
 
 4 That must be it," she said softly, and even 
 as she spoke Sylvia came along the garden walk. 
 
 "Sylvia! Oh, Sylvia! I wrote you that I 
 was coming, and here I am." 
 
 " And here you are," Sylvia echoed, taking 
 Irma's hand, and leading her through the gate- 
 way, and into the garden. 
 
 She had let her hand give the welcome that her 
 lips could not frame. 
 
 She could not have told why she took her caller 
 to the little garden, instead of inviting her into 
 the house. Perhaps it was the thought that came 
 to her with Irma's letter. 
 
 As she read it she thought : u Why is this girl, 
 whom I so slightly know, coming so far to see
 
 IRMA ARRIVES 191 
 
 me?" And now that they were together, she 
 thought: "Why has she come?" 
 
 The striking difference between the two girls 
 was never more evident than as they sat on the 
 garden seat talking of the friends that Sylvia had 
 left behind. Irma had dressed herself with great 
 care, and when before her mirror she had sur- 
 veyed its reflection, she felt that her effort had 
 produced a charming result. Now, as she sat fac- 
 ing Sylvia, she saw the beauty, the grace, the 
 strength of character that shone forth as she 
 talked, and above all the magnetism of the girl 
 whom she had always envied. Before this she 
 had wondered why Sylvia charmed all who met 
 her; now she knew, and the knowledge was gall- 
 ing. Try as she would, she could never be this 
 girl's equal, no not in any one respect. 
 
 Sylvia in her ivory-toned muslin gown, simply 
 made, wore as its only garniture a satin girdle of 
 the same hue. Earlier, when she had been alone 
 in the garden, the breeze had swayed the white 
 rose bush, and she had plucked a bud and fast- 
 ened it among the waving masses of her hair. 
 Irma realized the simplicity of the costume, and 
 knew that she herself could not look at all well 
 in anything so plainly made, or so devoid of 
 color.
 
 192 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 She was keenly disappointed in another respect. 
 It had been generally accepted as a fact that Mrs. 
 Van Horn had literally " turned Sylvia from her 
 door," and also that, as Jack Stanwood did not 
 disappear at the same time that Sylvia had left 
 the city, it must be that, as Mrs. Van Horn said, 
 " he was mainly interested in the Van Horn mil- 
 lions." Yet Sylvia did not look depressed. 
 These things were flitting through Irma's small 
 head while Sylvia was speaking, so it was not 
 strange that her replies were somewhat irrele- 
 vant. She blushed when she saw, by the odd ex- 
 pression on Sylvia's face, that her answer had not 
 fitted the question asked. 
 
 " Oh, I am so stupid," she said, " but the long 
 walk tired me, and besides I can't help thinking of 
 that terrible man who was digging out in that 
 field, and who shouted about the ' crack o' 
 doom.' ' Then she changed the subject. She 
 had already told Sylvia all about the driver leav- 
 ing her so far from her' destination, and the 
 " crazy prophet," as she called him. 
 
 " We girls were all sorry that you had to leave 
 the city and come to this out of the way place, 
 and every one says that it was simply outrageous 
 of Mrs. Van Horn. She must have known, when
 
 IRMA ARRIVES 193 
 
 she sent you here, that you'd be desperately 
 lonely." 
 
 " Aunt Daphne did not send me here," Sylvia 
 said quietly. 
 
 She wished that Irma had not come. 
 
 " Oh, really? Why every one is blaming her 
 because you are here," Irma said with a look of 
 surprise. 
 
 ;< I came of my own volition," Sylvia replied. 
 
 ' Is that the house?" was the next question, 
 asked in a manner that spoke volumes, and a rais- 
 ing of the eyebrows that implied surprise that any 
 one could voluntarily live there. 
 
 ' Yes, that is the house that my Aunt Sylvia 
 called ' The Three Birches.' Years ago the place 
 was used as a tavern and the swinging sign still 
 hangs over the side door." 
 
 'It's very er picturesque, no doubt, but 
 really, Sylvia, aren't you afraid here? I know 
 I'd never dare to sleep in that old house. It 
 looks as if it actually might be haunted. Is it? 
 Did you ever hear any one say? " 
 
 Sylvia was spared answering the annoying ques- 
 tions, for just at that moment, a shrill voice called 
 her name. 
 
 " Sylvia I Sylvia ! "
 
 194 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Aunt Zilla, tall and gaunt, appeared on the 
 porch, looking anxiously in every direction, but 
 Laddie, who had rushed out beside her, bounded 
 down the path to where the two girls sat.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE LITTLE RED BOOK 
 
 EXCUSING herself to Irma, Sylvia hurried 
 along the path to the porch, Laddie at her 
 heels. 
 
 Irma looked curiously after her as she pushed 
 aside the flowering untrimmed shrubs, and made 
 her way to the porch. It was fortunate that she 
 was too far away to hear Aunt Zilla's stage whis- 
 perings. After anxiously inquiring as to the name 
 of the caller, where she came from, and why she 
 had come, she asked the question that was harrow- 
 ing her. " Will she stay all day? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 ' Will she ask to stay over night? " 
 
 " She hasn't yet, Aunt Zilla, but I can't tell 
 what she might do." 
 
 "Good land! An' a spare-room that ain't 
 much ter brag of, an' the furniture in it reelly 
 not worth mentionin'. I didn't mind when Jack 
 was here. Men don't pick things ter pieces like 
 women do." 
 
 " She may not be intending to remain here for 
 IPS
 
 196 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 more than the day; indeed, I'm not even sure that 
 she will be here for the entire day." 
 
 " Wai, I can't, on the strength o' that, let 
 things go." 
 
 And while the two stood talking, Irma's restless 
 eyes took in the weed-grown paths, the wild pro- 
 fusion of flowers, the weather-beaten house, the 
 old rustic seat, and then, what was that bit of 
 scarlet lying in the grass? She bent lower. It 
 was a tiny book, and in a second it was in her 
 hand. 
 
 "A diary! " she whispered, then with curling 
 lip, " How very interesting." 
 
 Without an instant's hesitation, she opened the 
 little book and began to read the hastily penciled 
 items. Down the column of small sums expended 
 her slender finger went, her expression growing 
 more and more contemptuous, until she reached a 
 line that held no figures, needed no figures to tell 
 its meaning. 
 
 " Oh, Jack, Jack, I want you ! " 
 
 There were little blistered places just below the 
 written line that told of tears. A strange light 
 came into the beadlike eyes, not a pleasant light 
 to see. It was neither the bright light of friendly 
 understanding, nor was it the soft light of tender 
 sympathy. Rather it bespoke a sudden feeling
 
 THE LITTLE RED BOOK 197 
 
 of triumph, as of one who gloated over having 
 at last found the weak spot in the armor of an- 
 other. "She writes: 'Oh, Jack, Jack, I want 
 you! ' Then he doesn't come here to see her! " 
 With a sense of gratification that she had obtained 
 exactly what she came for, she continued reading. 
 Some other morsel might be between these covers 
 that would prove equally valuable. Down col- 
 umn after column of figures on the little ruled 
 pages went the small, eager finger. Small items 
 of household expenditures were amusing, not in- 
 teresting. 
 
 " Ah, here's something! " she whispered. 
 
 "'If only Jack would write!' Then he 
 neither comes nor writes! " whispered Irma, in 
 evident delight. 
 
 She must hurry. At any moment Sylvia might 
 return. More goods purchased, and the prices 
 paid noted; and then, as if the accountant's 
 thoughts had again played truant, appeared an- 
 other bit that made the reader less complacent. 
 "How could I oversleep? My failure to bid 
 him ' good-by ' angered Jack. Dear fellow ! I 
 would not have missed a last word with him for 
 the world." 
 
 Irma was now becoming angry. What did it 
 mean? In one place Sylvia deplored his absence,
 
 198 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 and voiced her loneliness in the written cry : 
 " Oh, Jack, Jack, I want you! " And again she 
 wrote: "If only Jack would write! " 
 
 Irma was confused. Her delight in thinking 
 that Stanwood had deserted Sylvia was marred 
 when she realized that if Sylvia wrote as if regret- 
 ting heavy sleep that had prevented her from say- 
 ing " good-by " to Jack, then it was evident that 
 Jack had not only been there, but had remained 
 over night. Irma was not only angry but baffled. 
 
 She looked toward the porch, and saw the 
 woman reenter the house, while Sylvia remained 
 on the path at the foot of the steps, as if waiting 
 for further colloquy. In eager haste Irma turned 
 the page, and there found another bit of food for 
 curiosity: "I am beginning to hate the name 
 of ' Elmore.' Why must I be annoyed by him? 
 Is it not enough that I have to remain here?" 
 
 Then more items of expense followed, and 
 Irma was about to turn the page in the hope of 
 finding another interesting bit when, on looking 
 up, she saw Sylvia turn, as if about to leave the 
 porch. Quick as a flash the caller dropped the 
 little red book into the place in the grass where 
 she had found it. When Sylvia rejoined her, 
 Irma looked as unperturbed as if she had been 
 idly waiting for her return.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 POISONED DARTS 
 
 UNDER a calm exterior, Irma was really 
 wild with excitement, Sylvia, expecting 
 to find her impatient, and bored with 
 awaiting her return, was surprised at the unusual 
 brightness in her eyes, the heightened color of her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Irma saw the curious look, and because she was 
 guilty, flushed a deeper red. 
 
 How calmly, yet how fixedly Sylvia surveyed 
 her. Did she know? Had she turned while the 
 little red book was being robbed of its secret con- 
 fessions ? Irma could not tell, but she was uneasy. 
 She knew that she had endeavored to keep care- 
 ful watch while reading, but might not Sylvia 
 have turned at a moment when she was closely 
 scanning a page? 
 
 " It is very warm," she ventured; " my cheeks 
 are burning." 
 
 " I thought it rather fine to-day," Sylvia re- 
 199
 
 200 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 plied, " but you have had a long walk, and of 
 course the sun was hot." 
 
 The words were kindly, but the clear eyes of the 
 speaker seemed closely scrutinizing, and again 
 Irma felt the color rushing to her cheeks, making 
 them even more deeply red than before. She 
 commenced to talk rapidly of this friend and that, 
 and Sylvia, wholly unaware what caused the con- 
 fusion, believed her to be a desperately nervous 
 girl. 
 
 Nervous she surely was, but the malady was 
 immediate, not chronic. 
 
 Sylvia herself, always at ease, now, for the first 
 time, found herself at loss as to how best to enter- 
 tain the strange, self-invited, and surely unwel- 
 come guest. She had seen but little of Irma Del- 
 win, and had blamed herself for a strong aversion 
 for which she could not account. 
 
 Irma, at first elated by the written lines that 
 had told how deeply Sylvia longed for Jack, had 
 been dismayed, upon reading farther on, lines 
 that plainly proved that Jack Stanwood had been 
 a visitor at " The Three Birches." Ardently 
 she admired him. Annoyed she had ever been 
 that he had invariably shown no craving for her 
 society. After Sylvia's departure, she had sought 
 to win his attention, and she -had burned with
 
 POISONED DARTS 201 
 
 anger when all invitations sent to him had been 
 courteously declined. 
 
 Invited to an afternoon at home, he had pleaded 
 urgent business that made his acceptance impos- 
 sible. A previous engagement made it equally 
 impossible for him to appear at a reception at 
 her summer home. She had written a personal 
 invitation for a week-end house-party, and Jack 
 had sent regrets. He was to be out of town for 
 that week, he said. Graceful notes they were, 
 breathing courteous thanks for the invitations, but 
 always they held some apparently valid reason 
 for his non-appearance. 
 
 Irma had of course wondered if, when " out 
 of town," he was with Sylvia at " The Three 
 Birches." The hastily scribbled lines in the little 
 red book had first denied, and then admitted. 
 How was one to understand them? 
 
 " Sylvia would not long for him if he were often 
 here," thought Irma, and then: "But he has 
 been here, when she overslept, so did not bid him 
 1 good-by.' ' Truly it was puzzling. 
 
 And who bore the name of Elmore ? Why was 
 Sylvia beginning to hate it? As if these queries 
 were not enough to fully occupy Irma's busy brain, 
 another presented itself: " How can I so care- 
 fully question her, that she will not realize any
 
 202 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 underlying motive, and thus will make replies that 
 give me the knowledge that I came here to ob- 
 tain?" 
 
 She sought a subject of indifferent interest and 
 spoke of the Club to which both she and Sylvia 
 had belonged, and for a time they talked of those 
 members with whom both had been acquainted. 
 
 " The annual reception and dance last week 
 was quite the finest the Club has ever given," Irma 
 said. " And of course Mrs. Huntington Ard- 
 more was easily the most important person in the 
 receiving line. She's exceedingly busy now plan- 
 ning for fall entertaining. Oh, not really plan- 
 ning so early. Perhaps scheming would be the 
 better word." 
 
 " I never heard any one speak of Mrs. Ard- 
 more as a ' schemer,' ' Sylvia said. " Aunt 
 Daphne seemed to like her." 
 
 ' Well, why wouldn't she? " Irma said, quickly. 
 " Your Aunt Daphne's position is such that she 
 can give or withhold favors according as her will 
 dictates, and Mrs. Ardmore, desperately eager to 
 be on Mrs. Van Horn's list, worked in every way 
 to win her favor, even to agreeing that you should 
 make a more advantageous match than that which 
 you had chosen for yourself. Naturally Mrs. 
 Van Horn was pleased to find at least one person
 
 POISONED DARTS 203 
 
 who agreed with her, and now they are firm 
 friends." 
 
 A shade passed over Sylvia's face, so faint that 
 only one who watched her as intently as Irma was 
 watching would have noticed it. 
 
 " Aunt Daphne was never intimate with any 
 of her friends," Sylvia said, for she doubted 
 what Irma had said. 
 
 ' Well, she is intimate now, if she never was 
 before, with Mrs. Ardmore, and when I said that 
 Fannie's mother was scheming, I knew that to be 
 true, too. What do you think of her week-end 
 house-parties? " 
 
 " What a question, Irma ! You know I am 
 never. present now at the Ardmores', or for that 
 matter, at any social functions, and have not been 
 since I left Aunt Daphne's home and came here." 
 
 " Oh, well I supposed that you heard reports 
 of social doings from time to time. I didn't 
 know but Jack Stanwood kept you posted." 
 
 It was a bold stroke, but apparently ineffective. 
 Sylvia, ignoring her last statement, replied to the 
 first remark. 
 
 " Since I am to remain in this dull place for 
 the present, it is best, I think, to hear as little as 
 possible of the bright life that has, until now, 
 been mine."
 
 204 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Irma stared. Was it tact that formed that re- 
 ply, or did Sylvia fail to realize that the girl who 
 so closely watched her was prying? 
 
 " Of course every one knows that Fannie is wild 
 over Jack," Irma said. 
 
 Sylvia smiled, and a sudden light came into her 
 eyes. A light of understanding. Again she 
 parried. 
 
 " Fannie is so quiet, that it's hard to think of 
 her as absolutely ' wild ' over any one," she said. 
 
 Irma, childishly vexed at failing to win the 
 knowledge that she sought, pointed her next re- 
 mark sharply. 
 
 " Well, if you saw them together, you would 
 realize that there's one person on earth that can 
 rouse Fannie Ardmore, and make her look every 
 inch alive, and that person is Jack Stanwood. 
 For that matter, Jack himself looks far from in- 
 different." 
 
 It was a cruel speech, and false as well, and 
 it had been uttered with malicious intent, but 
 Irma obtained but little satisfaction from it, for 
 at that moment Aunt Zilla called and Sylvia be- 
 lieved that in all her life she had never been so 
 glad of an interruption. 
 
 " Come," she said, " we will go in and while I 
 help Aunt Zilla, possibly you may find something
 
 POISONED DARTS 205 
 
 in the bookcase for a companion for the short 
 time that I leave you." 
 
 Sylvia fled from the room and out to the little 
 side doorway. Aunt Zilla, needing no assistance, 
 was somewhat surprised at the girl's sudden ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 She had wished only to ask Sylvia a few ques- 
 tions, and her face showed actual amazement. 
 Sylvia leaned against the door-frame, drinking in 
 the breeze, and trying to calm herself so that she 
 might return to the living-room, with at least the 
 appearance of one whom an arrow had missed. 
 
 Aunt Zilla laid a kindly hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Sylvia, I don't noways think ye're enjoyin' 
 that gal in there," she said, pointing backward 
 over her shoulder toward the living-room. " Is 
 she pesterin' ye, Sylvia? " 
 
 Her usually sharp eyes were now softened by 
 a look of deep concern. Sylvia nodded, and, for 
 a second, pressed her hand to her forehead. 
 
 " Don't see her again," whispered Aunt Zilla. 
 " I'll git lunch, an' see that she's well fed, an' 
 then I'll let her go. Go up ter yer room, I'll 
 tell her ye don't feel well, an' ye kin be relieved 
 er her comp'ny sooner 'n ye " 
 
 " Oh, no, no," Sylvia whispered. ' That would 
 never do."
 
 206 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " I don't see why 'tain't jest the thing to do," 
 complained the would-be comforter, a bit hurt that 
 her plan to relieve the situation was not approved. 
 
 " Oh, because it would not do. I'll tell you why 
 after she's gone. I'll go back to her now, and you 
 will be with us at lunch, and after lunch, leave the 
 dishes, and stay every moment with us. Every 
 moment, Aunt Zilla, remember. Don't leave us 
 for so much as a second! " 
 
 Aunt Zilla promised, and resolved that, while 
 not comprehending, she would blindly obey.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 MISCHIEF BREWING 
 
 SYLVIA afterward wondered how she had 
 managed calmly to get through that try- 
 ing day. She remembered that, at lunch, 
 Aunt Zilla was at the table, and that, in a des- 
 perate attempt to promote conversation, and at 
 the same time keep it impersonal, she had chosen 
 the most unique subjects, the various topics being 
 startlingly irrelevant. 
 
 At any other time, the drollness of it all would 
 have made her long to laugh, but at the time, she 
 was aware of but one fact: that Aunt Zilla was 
 talking continuously, and that while her nimble 
 tongue raced from one subject to another, Irma 
 could find no chance to be annoying. 
 
 She did not know of the girl's infatuation for 
 Jack, so saw no motive for the trip, or for her 
 evident pleasure in connecting his name with that 
 of Fannie Ardmore. She did not dream that gos- 
 sip had already questioned if her own going away 
 
 from all that had hitherto made life bright for 
 
 307
 
 208 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 her meant that she and Jack had broken friend- 
 ship. 
 
 The engagement had been secret, but tongues 
 wagged because she was absent from the city, 
 while Jack remained, closely occupied with busi- 
 ness during the day, and seen occasionally at social 
 gatherings, apparently enjoying evenings thus 
 spent. 
 
 Sylvia knew that, after lunch, they had returned 
 to the living-room, where again Aunt Zilla demon- 
 strated her ability to talk without cessation. 
 
 Once, Sylvia recalled, Irma found a loophole, 
 when Aunt Zilla paused for breath, and that she 
 grasped the opportunity to ask if there were a 
 family in Blossomville named Elmore. 
 
 " Why, yes," Aunt Zilla answered, " or I s'pose 
 there is. There's Squire Luke Elmore, but after 
 all, I do'no' if he's any family." 
 
 " Oh, is he single?" Irma asked. 
 
 " He's single, but he may have some rel'tives 
 for aught I know. He's got means, 'n' he's called 
 wealthy round these parts, " 
 
 The tip of Sylvia's toe touched Aunt Zilla's 
 stout shoe, with an admonitory pressure. Hav- 
 ing been given a hint that, for some reason, Sylvia 
 was not enjoying her visito'r, Aunt Zilla at once 
 thought that the gentle pressure meant that she
 
 MISCHIEF BREWING 209 
 
 was treading upon forbidden ground, and she let 
 the subject drop. She talked of other things but 
 over and over in her mind revolved these ques- 
 tions. 
 
 " Did she tell me not to talk of the Squire? 
 Of course not, so what did she mean by touchin' 
 my foot? What did I say that could interest any 
 one? I only said he might have rel'tives, an' so 
 he might." 
 
 Although lunch was served quite a bit after one, 
 the afternoon seemed interminable, and when 
 Irma arose to go, not even courtesy could force 
 Sylvia to urge her to remain longer. Aunt Zilla 
 was silent. 
 
 It was not until a half-hour after her departure 
 that it occurred to either that she had walked 
 off up the road as if with some definite objective 
 point. What did she intend to do? She surely 
 knew that she could not walk to the station. 
 Why, then, had she not remained at " The 
 Three Birches " until the stage-coach that would 
 pass the house had arrived? 
 
 A spare figure, clad in a gown of black silk that 
 bore evidence of having been " turned " until, 
 from constant wear, it was " done to a crisp," a 
 small turban, with an upright, bristling feather 
 crowning her head, and a handkerchief grasped
 
 210 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 in her cotton-gloved hand, came tramping along 
 the road. Her manner was so intensely resolute 
 that it appeared almost defiant, as if she were 
 bent upon an errand, and, for some reason, ex- 
 pected to be opposed. 
 
 She noticed, far ahead, a figure that, even at 
 that distance, looked to be a human rainbow, and 
 she frowned in disapproval of such frivolous at- 
 tire. On came the rose-colored muslin-clad figure. 
 Forward to meet it tramped the grim form in 
 black. The girl's face was flushed and eager; 
 the old woman's stern and unrelenting. Irma 
 smiled, but the other did not respond. Irma was 
 always confident of pleasing any one save Jack 
 Stanwood. She had been confident regarding 
 him, but she was beginning to wonder if, after all, 
 he were so strongly attached to Sylvia, so sincere 
 in his allegiance, that nothing could shake his 
 constancy. 
 
 Girl and old woman now stood face to face, 
 and Irma hastened to inquire, " Can you tell me 
 where Mr. Luke Elmore lives?" 
 
 " I can, young lady, but will I? " Dorcas asked, 
 sharply. 
 
 Irma's temper prompted her to make a saucy 
 reply, but she chose to ignore the woman's rude-
 
 MISCHIEF BREWING 211 
 
 ness, hoping, thereby, to get the coveted informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, but please tell me," she urged, and Dorcas 
 Dale, somewhat mollified, turned sharply about, 
 pointed a lean finger toward a sign-board that 
 stood at the corner where two roads met, and 
 ejaculated: 
 
 " See that sign that says ' This way ter Durlin- 
 ton ' ? Wai, that pints as straight as an arrer ter 
 the Elmore farm. Ye couldn't miss it. That 
 piece o' red roof that shows jest above them 
 trees, is the top o' the barn. The house is be- 
 yond, an' faces on another road 'n this. It's 
 quite a walk from here, but the place is wuth 
 lookin' at when ye git there. D'ye know the 
 Squire?" 
 
 Ignoring the question, Irma thanked her, and, 
 to avoid further queries, walked briskly away 
 down the road toward that distant red roof. 
 
 " He is single, possibly no relatives, and fairly 
 well-to-do. In a place like this, he is doubtless 
 rated as a nabob. In New York " she laughed, 
 then. " Fortunately he's not in New York! " 
 
 When at last she reached the border of the 
 Elmore farm, she slackened her pace and ap- 
 peared to be passing, while out for a stroll.
 
 212 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Slowly she passed, but while she obtained a clear 
 idea of the property, noting the well-kept build- 
 ings, the rolling lawn in front, and the wide- 
 spreading acres beyond, she caught not so much 
 as a glimpse of its owner. 
 
 " Never mind," she whispered, as if endeavor- 
 ing to down her disappointment, " I'll not be 
 obliged to describe him. I've enough material 
 without that." One might have thought that the 
 sight of the Elmore place had acted as a tonic, for 
 her eyes were bright and her step elastic as she 
 returned over the long road, on her way to the 
 place, where earlier in the day she had left the 
 coach. 
 
 Dorcas Dale, grim and silent, had stood watch- 
 ing the girl as she followed the direction which 
 the old woman's lean figure had indicated. Irma 
 had felt that the sharp eyes were following her 
 every movement. It seemed to her that she must 
 turn about, and know if that were true, but she 
 did not. Instead she quickened her pace, and she 
 breathed a sigh of relief, when a row of willows 
 intervened, and the old woman, whoever she might 
 be, could not watch her. Dorcas stood a bit 
 longer, and then went on her way. 
 
 " Queer! " she muttered. " Queer, an' more'n 
 queer fer comp'ny ter be comin' ter the Elmore
 
 MISCHIEF BREWING 213 
 
 place, an' him not callin' fer 'em at the deepot, 
 Funny too, as he didn't drive over, that that gal 
 didn't git inter the coach an' ride over. Ef she'd 
 been a shabby pusson, I'd think she didn't hev a 
 quarter ter give Jimson, but that gal an' them 
 clothes don't go with pov'ty. I wouldn't be 
 s'prised ef she had as much as a dollar in her 
 pocket." She hurried a bit to make up for the 
 time that she had spent watching Irma. She 
 wished that the girl had been more communicative. 
 It would have been interesting to know if she were 
 to remain for a visit, and if she were a relative. 
 Did she know that Luke Elmore's housekeeper 
 was crabbed; that she disliked guests at the house, 
 and that she watched for opportunities, when her 
 master was not present, to suggest that a lengthy 
 visit was not expected? Dorcas knew that while 
 Luke Elmore was a genial host, his housekeeper 
 believed literally in " speeding the parting guest." 
 " Ef she's a rel'tive, that's one thing, but ef she 
 ain't a rel'tive, she's bold a-goin' there ter visit. 
 I do wonder how long she'll stay."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 
 
 DORCAS DALE could not have told why 
 she went up the garden path on tiptoe, or 
 why she felt frightened when the knocker 
 fell with a clatter so much louder than she had 
 intended. 
 
 Aunt Zilla, happening to be in the hall, admitted 
 her promptly. Dorcas, thinking of the girl 
 in pink, on passing through the hall, could not 
 dismiss her from her mind when sitting, prim and 
 erect by the window in the living-room. They 
 had talked of the weather until nothing more could 
 be said regarding it, until each wished that the 
 other could suggest a new topic. 
 
 "Had many callers since ye come?" 
 
 " No, but I've an idee that ef the hull village 
 come, 'twouldn't be a huge crowd." 
 
 " Oh, I do'no'. Countin' men, women, an' 
 children 'twould be quite a gatherin'. Be ye lone- 
 some here? " 
 
 " Why, yes," Aunt Zilla admitted, wondering 
 214
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 215 
 
 that any sensible person should ask a question to 
 which there could be but one answer. 
 
 " Is Miss Sylvia ter home? " 
 
 " No, she's not in. She had comp'ny all the 
 morning; in fact, the gal only left here 'bout half 
 an hour 'fore you come. I guess Sylvia was sort 
 o' tired. She said her head ached, an' I told her 
 a walk would do her good, so she went off up the 
 wood-road." 
 
 Dorcas Dale's eyes brightened. 
 
 " S'pos 'twas the gal that I see a while ago? 
 She was goin' ter visit Luke Elmore. Least 
 ways, she axed me ter d'rect her ter his place." 
 
 " 'Twant no Blossomville gal that come ter see 
 Sylvia. 'Twas a New York gal, an' dressed in 
 some style, I tell ye," Aunt Zilla said sharply. 
 Did the caller think Sylvia a country lass, whose 
 friends would be other country lassies? 
 
 Dorcas Dale was now wild with curiosity. She 
 leaned forward, her eagerness making her eyes 
 actually piercing. 
 
 " Did she wear a pink gown, an' a hat with a 
 half a bushel o' roses on it? " she asked. 
 
 "Why yes. How d'you know?" Aunt Zilla 
 gasped. 
 
 " 'Cause I see her, I tell ye, an' she axed me ter 
 tell her where Squire Elmore lived."
 
 216 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Must been some one hereabouts that ye met. 
 Why, Miss Dale, what on airth would a New 
 York gal be gal'vantin' round here a-huntin' fer 
 Squire Elmore, or anybody else? Fust place, she 
 don't know 'em, so why would she be wantin' ter 
 see'em? " 
 
 " All the same, I'll ventur 'twas the very gal 
 'twas here that I see. Why, Mis' Bond, there 
 wouldn't never be two people dressed like that in 
 this village at one time. Say! Did the one that 
 come ter see Miss Sylvia hev a little glitterin' sil- 
 ver bag in her hand, an' a pink sunshade like her 
 gown? Did she? An' a chain with a little 
 sparklin' thing on it, round her neck? " 
 
 Aunt Zilla nodded. 
 
 "The same gal, I tell ye! Now ain't that 
 queer that she come ter see Miss Sylvia, an' ye 
 didn't neither of ye know she was 'quainted with 
 the Squire? Wai, don't that beat all hemlock? " 
 
 Aunt Zilla thought it did, but suddenly she re- 
 membered the admonitory pressure of Sylvia's 
 foot under the table. She resolved to say no 
 more on the subject to this stranger, but to tell 
 Sylvia immediately upon her return. 
 
 Finding that, for some reason, Aunt Zilla ap- 
 peared all at once to have lost interest in the sub-
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 217 
 
 ject, Dorcas Dale turned to another topic that she 
 considered important. 
 
 " Do ye use the big room on the other side er 
 the hall?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " 'S that so ?' Wai, I've noticed the blinds was 
 shet whenever I've been by, but ye open 'em some- 
 times, don't ye? " 
 
 " No, we don't never open 'em, an' I may as 
 well tell ye, we don't never go in there. Ye'll 
 likely be askin' me why, so I'll say that the door 
 er that room is locked an' bolted, an' fer fear 
 that ain't 'nough, it's nailed up, so I couldn't in- 
 vite ye in there. We hain't hankered ter hev 
 the door undid." 
 
 "Guess not," agreed Dorcas, "Why, do ye 
 know, Mis' Bond, they, tell more yarns 'bout that 
 room, an' some prob'ly ain't so, but there's a 
 chance that some is true. Fer one thing, there's 
 them as tells that there's treasure-chests in there 
 chuck-full o' gems worth millions. Then there's 
 others that wants ter know where the portrait er 
 the fust Sylvia Durant is, what died here, an' 
 there's some that declares that ," she paused, 
 and looked over her shoulder at that door across 
 the hall " that there's a skel'ton hid in there,
 
 218 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 an' say how can ye stand livin' here?" She 
 shivered as she concluded the sentence. 
 
 " Ye never know what ye're ekal ter, til ye try 
 it. I promised Sylvia I'd be her housekeeper, and 
 I said I'd be a good friend ter her, an' I'm likely 
 ter keep my promise." 
 
 " Wai, I guess ye're a good sort," Dorcas said, 
 " but land sakes ! I do wish that door was open. 
 I'm 'bout wild ter know what's on the other side 
 of it. Ain't you?" 
 
 " Sometimes I'd like ter open that door, an' 
 then again, there's times when I'm glad I can't. 
 Take a day when the wind is a-blowin', an' the 
 rain a-peltin' fit ter smash I Why, on a day like 
 that ye couldn't hire me ter open that door. No, 
 sir! I wouldn't so much as touch the handle! " 
 
 " I do'no' but I'd feel the same if I lived here," 
 agreed Dorcas, " but as tis, I do feel cur'ous 'bout 
 that room. How does Miss Sylvia feel 'bout it? " 
 
 " I hain't heard her say, but ye must know this 
 place is dull fer her. She had all that was gay 
 when she lived with her aunt." 
 
 ' Then fer the land sakes, what ever brung 
 
 her here?" gasped Dorcas, in astonishment. 
 
 ' We beared her rich aunt turned her out. Ain't 
 
 that so? Massy! What's that?" Dorcas 
 
 shivered.
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 219 
 
 She thought the groaning, creaking sound had 
 come from the closed room. 
 
 " Oh, that's the swinging sign creakin' as the 
 wind swings it. Don't ye know it's over the door 
 on that side o' the house? " 
 
 " Well, yes, I do know that the old tavern sign 
 hangs there, but land ! Knowin' what makes the 
 noise don't make it sound much better to me. I 
 guess I'll be goin', an' I'll say now, I'm pretty 
 busy, so I couldn't come often, but I'd be pleased 
 ter hev ye call on me at any time." 
 
 " I thank ye," Aunt Zilla replied, " but I'm 
 some busy, too." 
 
 She stood in the doorway, and nodded to her 
 departing caller, when, on the road, she turned to 
 look back. Then closing the door, she returned 
 to her comfortable rocker. 
 
 " One newsmonger disposed of," she whis- 
 pered, and then: ' The old sign did us a good 
 turn!" 
 
 As she sat slowly rocking, the same question 
 that had puzzled her while her caller was talking, 
 came back with redoubled force, and she spoke 
 sharply as if one who possessed the knowledge 
 were sitting before her, and might, if she chose, 
 answer. 
 
 " I tell ye it couldn't be that that Delwin gal
 
 220 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 left this house, an' then went prancin' clear across 
 the town ter visit Luke Elmore. It's redic'lous! 
 She don't know him ! " 
 
 Sylvia, returning from her long walk, entered 
 the side door just in time to hear Aunt Zilla's last 
 words. 
 
 She was a bit tired, and the tramp along the 
 shady road had done her but little good, because 
 all the way thoughts of the unpleasant visitor had 
 filled her mind, and it was with a heavy heart that 
 she had pushed the garden gate open and en- 
 tered. 
 
 " Irma returns to pleasure, and I to this wretch- 
 edly lonely house," she thought. As she reached 
 the dining-room she heard Aunt Zilla's voice, shrill 
 with anger: 
 
 " It's redic'lous! She don't know him! " 
 ' Whom can she be talking to?" Sylvia whis- 
 pered, and too weary to think of meeting, or help- 
 ing to entertain a possible caller, she waited for 
 conversation to be resumed, when with noiseless 
 tread she might return to the rear of the house, 
 and, by a back stairway, reach her room. She 
 was wondering why no one spoke, when, in shift- 
 ing from one foot to the other, the floor creaked, 
 and Aunt Zilla darted out, sure that some stranger 
 had entered.
 
 THE CLOSED DOOR 221 
 
 ' That you Sylvia ? Wai, I declare I'm glad 
 ye've come. I've had a caller since ye went out, 
 an' oh ye needn't look toward the livin'-room 
 fer she's gone, but between that flighty thing that 
 riled ye so this mornin' an' the pusson what's 
 jest left, I'm 'bout wild. Come an' set down 
 while I tell ye." 
 
 Sylvia listened to a detailed description of Dor- 
 cas Dale, seeming listless until Aunt Zilla said: 
 
 " Don't ye remember we both felt glad when 
 Irma Delwin said she must go? " 
 
 Sylvia nodded assent. 
 
 ** We didn't neither of us ask her ter stay, but 
 'twas after she was gone that it occurred ter us 
 that 'twas a leetle strange that she started off so 
 long before the coach would pass the house." 
 
 " I know," Sylvia said, slowly. 
 
 " Wall, Miss Dorcas Dale says she met her 
 some ways from here, an' the gal inquired the way 
 ter the Elmore place, an' she d'rected her. Now, 
 what d'ye make er that? " 
 
 " As that woman could not know Irma, I do 
 not see why she should think that our visitor and 
 the girl that she met were one and the same." 
 
 " Sylvia, / b'lieve 'twas her, fer that ol' critter 
 said she was stylish, that she wore a pink gown, 
 a hat with a hull batch o' roses on it, a chain with
 
 222 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 a little sparklin' thing hangin' to it, round her 
 neck, an' in her hands a glitterin' silver bag. Yes, 
 an' a sunshade, pink like her gown. I tell ye, 
 Sylvia, it looks queer, but ye well know that there 
 couldn't hev been two gals dressed out like that in 
 Blossomville to-day! " 
 
 " I remember, at the table, Irma asked you if 
 there was a family here named Elmore, and when 
 you said that Luke Elmore lived here, but that 
 you did not know if he had relatives, she looked 
 up brightly, and she said: 'Oh, is he single?' 
 Don't you remember, Aunt Zilla? " 
 
 " I do, and I wish I knew what it meant, and 
 why she was so full of asking us all about him." 
 
 " Why should she wish to meet Luke Elmore ? 
 What could her object be? " Sylvia said in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Long after she should have been sleeping that 
 night, she lay thinking, thinking, and again, al- 
 though no one was near to answer, she murmured : 
 " What could her object be? "
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE SECOND MRS. DELWIN 
 
 MRS. HORATIO DELWIN believed her- 
 self to be the luckiest woman in her 
 set. Every one knew that Horatio Del- 
 win was possessed of great wealth, and she was 
 very glad that she was the second, not the first 
 Mrs. Delwin. Had not the first Mrs. Delwin 
 born two children? Had she not lost the first; 
 and then, oh, but fate had been unkind, lost her 
 life when the second, Irma, was born? Yes, in- 
 deed, being the first Mrs. Delwin was no joke, 
 but being the second Mrs. Delwin; ah, that was 
 delightful ! 
 
 In the first place, he had doubled his posses- 
 sions at about the time that he had buried his 
 first wife, and as to the care of the child well, 
 people said that that had never weighed very 
 heavily on the mind of the woman who consid- 
 ered the magnificent home on the avenue hers, 
 and believed herself very kind that she had never 
 attempted to have the daughter of the house 
 placed elsewhere. 
 
 223
 
 224 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 To be sure, she knew that such an attempt 
 would have proven futile, that it surely would 
 have caused a breach between her husband and 
 herself, but she would not admit that. It was 
 pleasanter to think of the girl's many annoying 
 ways, and then to tell herself how wonderfully for-, 
 bearing she had been. 
 
 Eagerly she looked forward to the day when 
 Irma should marry, and then, the home would be 
 hers alone ! Stay ! There was the master of the 
 house. Oh, but he was easily managed. Closely 
 occupied with business during the day, he long 
 ago had learned by sad experience that the club 
 was far more congenial than the home, if a pleas- 
 ant evening were to be enjoyed. 
 
 Whenever Irma cornered him, in an attempt to 
 tell her latest grievance, she was always turned 
 about with a gentle pat on her shoulder, supposed 
 to dismiss both herself and whatever troubled her, 
 and a check that he honestly believed would mend 
 the matter thrust into her hand. Owing to a close 
 study of the present Mrs. Delwin, he had come to 
 believe that money was a panacea for all cravings 
 of the feminine heart. He considered peace a 
 bargain at any price, and he was forever trying to 
 buy it. He used the same method for sidetrack- 
 ing a lengthy dissertation on the glaring faults in
 
 THE SECOND MRS. DELWIN 225 
 
 his daughter's character, or a description of her 
 latest exhibition of having a will of her own and 
 of being especially averse to listening to reason. 
 
 ll I declare, Irma is so upsetting, that my nerves 
 are really quivering!" his wife remarked one 
 evening. 
 
 A tired look came into his kindly eyes. An 
 even-tempered man, he wondered how it was that 
 these two members of his family could never get 
 on together. 
 
 Then Mrs. Delwin languidly declared herself 
 utterly unable to cope with Irma, a statement that 
 she had made an hundred times before, and just 
 as on those other occasions, out had come the 
 check-book. 
 
 " Now, do try to smooth matters over between 
 you," he said; and pacified, not satisfied, Mrs. 
 Delwin later saw him depart for his club, and 
 decided to wait for a better opportunity to " talk 
 matters over," when a still larger check might be 
 forthcoming. 
 
 With the check tightly clasped in her nervous 
 fingers, she hurried to her room, the shimmering 
 folds of her satin negligee trailing softly behind 
 her. Going to the low, French dresser, she took 
 a dainty purse from a drawer, placed the check in 
 it, replaced the purse in the drawer, and then sat
 
 226 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 down to think matters over. It was surely a 
 vexing problem one that baffled her completely; 
 and the girl's father had refused assistance, prof- 
 fering, as usual, a substantial check in lieu of coun- 
 sel or advice. 
 
 He had left the house in disgust. " Only an- 
 other ' tantrum ' ! " he had muttered, looking 
 back at the mansion that sheltered dissension 
 where peace should have reigned. 
 
 " If I could see any reason for this new notion," 
 Mrs. Delwin said, softly, " I'd have some idea 
 how to work, but Irma is so aggravating. She 
 will not tell me why she has determined upon this 
 absurd trip, but just stubbornly insists that she has 
 planned for her own pleasure and that she shall 
 carry it out. Crazy, simply crazy ! Refuses to 
 go, as usual, to Newport, refuses to go to any 
 other place that I suggest, but in all enthusiasm, 
 decides to spend the lovely fall months in a poky 
 little country place, with a poor relative, who is 
 old, and as deaf as a post! Really, who could 
 understand her? " 
 
 She stretched out her hands in a gesture of re- 
 nunciation, as if the subject were beyond her men- 
 tal grasp and she, therefore, relinquished it. It 
 was, however, but the impatient mood of the mo- 
 ment.
 
 THE SECOND MRS. DELWIN 227 
 
 Mrs. Delwin's manner of relinquishing any- 
 thing was to throw it aside, with the comforting 
 knowledge that, before letting it drop, she had 
 taken the precaution to tie a string to it. For a 
 time she sat thinking. A dozen times she had 
 planned a marriage for her stepdaughter, not 
 with a view to Irma's happiness. Of course not. 
 Invariably she planned for her own happiness, 
 but each time the scheme had failed, and Irma still 
 shtred the home. 
 
 One might have thought the great house large 
 enough for two women to inhabit without friction, 
 but time and again it had been demonstrated that 
 it was not nearly large enough for these two, who 
 seemed to have " agreed to disagree." Mrs. 
 Delwin was not a brilliant woman, her reasoning 
 was never logical, but she possessed one attribute 
 that was invaluable: she often accomplished that 
 which her neighbors strove for in vain, for where 
 they had pushed knowledge and intellect to the 
 front to attain the goal, she, with only intuition, 
 had snatched the prize, without apparent effort. 
 In the present difficulty, she had argued, ridiculed, 
 sneered at the idea that Horatio Delwin's daugh- 
 ter, whose social success was assured, should ever 
 think of quitting the gay, pleasure-seeking throng 
 to spend a month, two months longer if she
 
 228 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 chose at a place so remote that its name was not 
 worth mentioning, and with a relative so insig- 
 nificant that Mrs. Delwin had quite forgotten 
 her. Again she thought aloud. 
 
 " Oh, it is too aggravating! I was determined 
 to make a match for her this summer, or at the 
 latest, in the fall, and I meant to have the mar- 
 riage follow quickly. Now, she upsets my plans 
 by deciding to go to that little out-of-the-way place, 
 where she'll see no one, and be seen by no one. I 
 can't imagine what put the idea in her head, for 
 I do believe she is as anxious to leave this house 
 as I am to have her leave it." 
 
 Suddenly her mood changed, and she sprang 
 to her feet. 
 
 " I have it ! " she cried. " I have it ! I'll soon 
 know why she chooses a dull old hole like that 
 instead of the gay sort of place that she loves. 
 I'll cease to combat her. I'll let her go without 
 further remonstrance; and then, after a time, I'll 
 take a little trip down there, and I'll learn what 
 the attraction is. One thing I already know; 
 it's not the place, nor deaf old Cousin Mehitabel 
 that, like a magnet, draws Irma with such irresisti- 
 ble force ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 A LINK IN THE CHAIN 
 
 IRMA had come and gone, and only one wee 
 corner of Blossomville was jarred by the in- 
 cident the corner where two roads met at 
 an acute angle, forming the triangular garden at 
 " The Three Birches." 
 
 The morning after her departure, Sylvia, stand- 
 ing on the narrow path, espied the little red book 
 lying, just as she had dropped it, open, and face 
 downward on the grass. She picked it up, and 
 the lines upon which her eyes first looked were 
 the very lines that had seemed to Irma so valuable 
 for future use : " I am beginning to hate the 
 name of Elmore. Why must I be annoyed by 
 him? Is it not enough that I have to remain 
 here?" 
 
 Its cover, and open pages were wet with dew. 
 
 " How careless of me to leave you here for 
 some one to see, and be amused over, although 
 it's not as if I'd left you in the road where any one 
 could snatch you up. Who ever enters this gar- 
 
 229
 
 230 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 den? " And as if in answer to the question, her 
 own heart dictated, and her lips uttered: " Irma 
 was here yesterday ! " It seemed an unworthy 
 thought, and she tried to down it. 
 
 " Oh, but Irma would not ," but before the 
 sentence was completed, her heart-promptings in- 
 terrupted : " Oh, wouldn't she ? " 
 
 Then a thought, clearly defined as if by a flash 
 of lightning, came to her. 
 
 " I wondered where she knew the name, El- 
 more, and that any one of that name lived here. 
 Now, I believe I know. This little red book, 
 with its written lines on the open page, supplied a 
 name that whetted her curiosity." 
 
 Sylvia remembered it all now. She had found 
 Irma waiting for her return to her place on the 
 garden-seat, and while the expression of her face 
 had been innocent, her cheeks had been deeply 
 flushed, nay crimson. Later at the table she had 
 seemed very curious regarding the name, " El- 
 more," and hau asked if a person of that name 
 lived in Blossomville, and numerous other ques- 
 tions, seeming greatly interested when Aunt Zilla 
 had said that he was single. Then, too, she had 
 left the house long before the stage-coach would 
 pass, and had walked briskly off up the road. 
 
 Piece by piece it fitted together like the oddly
 
 A LINK IN THE CHAIN 231 
 
 shaped bits of a puzzle-picture, that at first ap- 
 pears insolvable. The old woman who had called 
 soon after Irma's departure had brought with her 
 a missing section and it fitted. 
 
 " Why had Irma been so eager to leave? " had 
 been Sylvia's question, asked again and again; and 
 Dorcas Dale had answered: "To see the El- 
 more place, and if possible, its owner." It was 
 clear now: the jottings had piqued Irma's curi- 
 osity, and she had been determined to see the per- 
 son of whom Sylvia had written and to know how 
 great prosperity his residence would proclaim. 
 
 The garden, with its riot of bloom, was a 
 pleasant place at early morning. The blossoms, 
 fresh with dew, gave out a more intoxicating fra- 
 grance than when the sun of noonday had scorched 
 them. It was yet a long time before the sun 
 would rise high enough to peep over the tall for- 
 est trees on the opposite side of the road. 
 
 The sparrows on the walk close by the porch 
 were squabbling over their breakfast of bread- 
 crumbs that Sylvia had scattered, each afraid that 
 the other would acquire more than his share. 
 Near the tall red balm, an earthen basin sunk to 
 the level of the garden bed was filled with fresh 
 water, and hither came the birds to drink. Upon 
 its rim perched a wee brown sparrow, alternately
 
 232 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 dipping for a drink, and then raising his head as 
 if giving thanks for so great a blessing. 
 
 Peaceful it surely was; yet even as the light 
 breeze set the flowers swaying, came a vague sen- 
 sation of uneasiness, united with the knowledge 
 that Irma had, without doubt, obtained Elmore's 
 name from the page of the little book. And now 
 another thought came to torment her: " If it 
 were true that the girl had been so base as to read 
 extracts from the diary of another, what other 
 scribbled lines were there that might have proved 
 interesting? " 
 
 The hand holding the red-covered book clasped 
 it tighter. 
 
 ' Why did I drop it in the grass? " Sylvia mur- 
 mured. " And having dropped it, why need I 
 have forgotten it, and so left it within easy reach 
 of any one who would stoop to read it? " 
 
 She opened it at random. 
 
 "Oh, Jack, Jack! I want you!" 
 
 Could Irma have read that, too? It was im- 
 possible to know, and the doubt was harassing. 
 
 She must get away from herself from the 
 garden where the little, mischief-making book had 
 lain from the house yes, even from Aunt 
 Zilla, who, kind though she was, had a way of 
 closely questioning, usually at the time of all times
 
 A LINK IN THE CHAIN 233 
 
 when one felt least able to endure it. She re- 
 turned to the house, and taking a parasol from 
 the corner of the hall where she had left it, called: 
 " Aunt Zilla, I'm going out for a walk." 
 
 The door into the hall opened, and a head 
 looked out, its eyes showing extreme surprise. 
 
 " Out fer a walk now? Why, Sylvia, I sh'd 
 think ye was crazy." 
 
 " I'm not, but I am going for a walk." 
 
 " So ye said, but fer goodness' sake, wait f'r a 
 bit o' breakfast." 
 
 " I don't want it," the girl said. 
 
 " Anything happened? " was the next question 
 in a voice that betokened anxiety. 
 
 " Oh, I simply am not hungry, and I think a 
 brisk walk will do me good." 
 
 Sylvia ran through the hall, and down the steps, 
 along the path, and out through the gateway. 
 
 She felt that she could bear questioning more 
 patiently after an hour or two away from " The 
 Three Birches."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 A RUNAWAY 
 
 OFTEN on her way to the village, or on 
 her return, Sylvia had been glad to accept 
 a cordial invitation to rest and listen to 
 the gentle voice of Ezra Wiley as he told tales of 
 his varied experience on land and sea. He was a 
 kindly old fellow, and so well did he describe 
 events in which he had taken an active part or 
 happenings where he had been an eager spectator, 
 that his auditor, whoever he might be, was wont 
 to call for other tales, well knowing that they 
 would be of equal interest and charm. He pos- 
 sessed a mind that was receptive and sensitive to 
 impressions, and thus he read the moods of his 
 visitor and always told the sort of story that would 
 fit the mood. 
 
 Ezra dearly loved to cheer a friend or neighbor 
 who, for the time, seemed a bit " out of tune," 
 and for the one who grieved, his sympathy was 
 boundless. Tenderly he set about the task of 
 comforting, and so gentle were his words, so great 
 
 234
 
 A RUNAWAY 235 
 
 his tact, that always his friend responded : " Oh, 
 Ezry, ye're a blessin'," to which he would reply : 
 " I mean ter be, dear heart, I mean ter be. 
 Whenever ye're vexed come tell me all about it." 
 
 " I'm afeared we'll wear ye out, Ezry, ye old 
 angel," remarked a woman whose cares were 
 many, and who often came to him for counsel and 
 comfort. 
 
 " No, no, Mandy, come as often as ye like. 
 My shoulders ain't very broad, but they do bear 
 burdens jest amazin', an' when ye go away, an' 
 I feel I've comforted ye, seems 'most as if I'd 
 wings." 
 
 As he spoke he pressed something into her hand. 
 
 " Oh no, Ezry," the woman cried, " yer kind 
 words was 'nough." 
 
 " There, there, Mandy, 'tain't much, but ef it 
 helps a leetle, I'll be glad." 
 
 Sylvia had never told him why she had come to 
 the old house, never had complained of the dull 
 life at Blossomville. He had known that she 
 was timid there, and he had assured her that they 
 were too far from the city to be alluring to tramps. 
 On one occasion she had told him of the 
 " prophet," and he had convinced her that he was 
 absolutely harmless. There were times when he 
 dug for hidden treasure, that he was liable to be-
 
 236 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 lieve that he had located on whatever bit of land 
 he chanced to be standing. So long as he did not 
 commence to dig on land that had been planted the 
 owner of the land usually allowed him to dig, be- 
 cause while thus engaged, he rarely was taken with 
 a mania for prophesying. 
 
 " Oh, let him dig," said one old farmer, upon 
 whose land he had started to work with pick and 
 shovel. " I'd 'nough ruther he'd dig than talk." 
 
 On this especial morning, Sylvia had set out for 
 the Wiley farm, with no other errand or purpose 
 than a longing to elude Aunt Zilla's close question- 
 ing, and to be, for a time, with the only person 
 whom she had met in Blossomville who evinced 
 no curiosity regarding herself, or her business. 
 " I've always made this a halfway house," she 
 thought, " but this morning, if only I can sit with 
 some one who will talk to me, and not question 
 me, or tell me that I look tired, or worried, or, " 
 
 " Good-morning. I'm glad ter see ye, Miss 
 Sylvia. Come right in and sit here by the holly- 
 hocks, for I b'lieve ye like that place." 
 
 It was Ezra himself who had thus interrupted 
 her chain of restless thought. 
 
 " Coin' on ter the store later? " he asked. 
 
 " No, I'm a runaway," she said, " and I've come
 
 A RUNAWAY 237 
 
 here because it is different, so different from ' The 
 Three Birches.' ' 
 
 ' That's right," was the cheery answer. 
 ' That's right. We all need a change oncet in 
 a while ter prevent gettin' ter be jest the shape er 
 the rut we're livin' in." 
 
 He saw the burning spot in each cheek, and 
 knew that something especially annoying had 
 prompted her to " run away," but with his ready 
 tact, he seemed not to have noticed anything un- 
 usual in her appearance, or manner, and taking 
 a seat near her, began to tell her of a new flower- 
 ing plant that he was raising, and of his delight 
 that it was already budding. 
 
 She smiled, and tried to express an interest in 
 his fad for raising beautiful flowering plants, but 
 already she had forgotten the name of the variety 
 that he had mentioned, and she knew that he real- 
 ized that her thoughts were elsewhere. 
 
 '' I am half-distracted over a matter that, doubt- 
 less, I am foolish to worry over," she said, as if 
 in explanation, or apology, " and try as I will, I 
 cannot get it off my mind." 
 
 " Older folks than you gits clean wore out, 
 aworryin' over leetle things as wasn't worth fret- 
 tin' over ter begin with. There was Jim Jimson 
 an' his wife, poorer 'n Job's turkey 'n' with a
 
 238 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 fam'ly that jest filled the cottage chuck full. 
 When their last baby was born, 'twas a gal, 'n' all 
 the rest had been boys. Fust they worried be- 
 cause of the addition ter the fam'ly, that I mus' 
 say, didn't seem actooally nec'sary, 'n' then they 
 got clean tuckered out, tryin' ter decide whether 
 ter name her Trypheny, er Tryphosy. When 
 I said : ' Per massy sakes, call her Mary Ann, an' 
 be done with it,' they both thought I was reel 
 unfeelin'." 
 
 Sylvia laughed, and Ezra was delighted. He 
 believed that that which had sent the girl running 
 up the road, and in at his open gate, was nothing 
 more serious than a tiff, caused by difference of 
 opinion between Aunt Zilla and herself. 
 
 Ezra thought of another incident: " I never'll 
 fergit the time they sent Jim's tax bill by mail. 
 Most times they'd jest handed it ter him when they 
 see him passin'. His oldest boy got it, this time 
 I speak of, an' when he got home, he says, says 
 he : * What's in that 'ere onwalope, Pa ? ' * Tax 
 bill I got ter pay, darn it,' says Jim. ' What made 
 'em say : " Jim Jimson, askew," on the onwalope ? ' 
 says the boy. Jim had tore it open 'thout lookin' 
 at the way 'twas 'dressed. When he looked at it, 
 he turned redder'n a biled lobster, 'n' chuckled the 
 bill under the stove. ' Drat their imperdence ! '
 
 A RUNAWAY 239 
 
 says he. ' I'm as straight as a string ef my tax 
 bills is overdue. Jim Jimson, askew! I'm as 
 straight a cit'zen as any er they be. Drat 'em, I 
 say, the hull batch er them fellers what sends out 
 the tax bills. Jim Jimson, askew! Ef a feller 
 can't pay all his bills to oncet, an' the fust minute 
 they're due, there ain't no call fer them ter go 
 'n' tell the hull town of it on the outside er the on- 
 walopes! ' 
 
 Ezry laughed at the memory of Jimson's wrath, 
 and Sylvia laughed with him, but it was not the 
 light rippling music that he loved to hear. Rather 
 it sounded as if she were amused by the anecdote, 
 but that its drollery could not banish that which 
 had sent her out for an early morning call. 
 
 " I want ye ter know Aunt Phyllis," Ezra said 
 quietly, then: "Now, don't ye look disturbed, 
 fer when ye see her, ye won't think ye're talkin' 
 ter a stranger. Ye'll feel 's if ye'd known her 
 ever since ye was a leetle gal, she's so homelike, 
 an' so gentle." 
 
 Sylvia felt like begging a delay of the meeting, 
 until another time when she might be in a more 
 cheerful mood, but she did not. Ezra's desire to 
 cheer her was so evident, so sincere, that she 
 yielded. 
 
 " I'll tell ye something 'bout her, an' then we'll
 
 2 4 o THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 go in. Ye see, she ain't really a relation, but we 
 like ter think she is. She's a widder, an' she 
 wa'n't well fixed, so me'n Temp'rance asked her 
 ter make her home with us, an' I will say she's a 
 blessin' when she's busy, an' a ben'diction when 
 she's settin' still. I declare, ef I feel fidgity, I go 
 an' take a look at Phyllis, an' 'mejitly I feel calm. 
 'Tis so, fer a fact." 
 
 Aunt Phyllis sat in a vine-covered arbor at the 
 rear of the house, and the sunlight filtering through 
 the leaves touched her white hair, making her 
 fair, like a sweet-faced saint with a shining halo. 
 She looked up as they entered, and laid down her 
 knitting. 
 
 ' What a pleasant face," thought Sylvia. 
 
 u What a beautiful girl," thought the little 
 woman. 
 
 Ezra, after presenting Sylvia, and waiting for a 
 
 moment to enjoy seeing them talking together, 
 
 made a gauzy excuse regarding an errand for 
 
 1 Temp'rance," and walked across the lawn to 
 
 the house. 
 
 ' They'll get better 'quainted all by theirselves," 
 he muttered, " an' I do actooally b'lieve they's 
 somethin' happened that has stirred the gal so 
 she's not happy. I see it in her eyes, but 
 'twouldn't never do ter ask her what 'twas.
 
 A RUNAWAY 241 
 
 Mebbe Phyllis will know how ter git at it." And 
 Phyllis did. 
 
 Sylvia Durant was not the sort of girl who 
 would tell her private troubles to a stranger, but 
 Aunt Phyllis seemed like one whom she had long 
 known, and when she said: " Come, sit here on 
 this little stool beside me. I want to know ye, 
 dear," Sylvia, without a second's hesitation seated 
 herself on the low stool, and leaned an arm upon 
 Aunt Phyllis's knee as she sat, listening to the 
 sweet voice that was telling how deeply she en- 
 joyed the bird songs, and the blossom-scented air 
 of early morning. 
 
 Sylvia, looking up into the pleasant face, with 
 its blue eyes expressive of absolute peace and con- 
 tent, wondered if this were a woman whom care 
 had never cumbered, whom sorrow had never 
 touched. No, she was a little widow, so she had 
 loved and lost, but she had at least known the 
 joy of life with the one whom she loved, before 
 fate or death had parted them. 
 
 " Jack and I are parted, and oh, I know, no, 
 I hope, " 
 
 She caught her breath, and Aunt Phyllis laid 
 a gentle hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "What is it, dearie?" she asked. "Is it so 
 lonely at * The Three Birches? ' "
 
 242 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Sylvia looked up into the kindly eyes. 
 
 " Tell me how it is you have lived so many 
 years more than I have, and yet look so peaceful, 
 so happy," she said wistfully, as if she would 
 learn the secret. 
 
 She was not sure that she could talk of her lone- 
 liness in the big old house, without tears, and she 
 was not one to show weakness before even her 
 most intimate friends. 
 
 Aunt Phyllis radiated peace and good cheer, 
 thus the question that filled Sylvia's mind. 
 
 " Will ye listen whilst I tell ye a tale o' things 
 that happened long ago? " 
 
 " Indeed I will," Sylvia said, feeling a sense of 
 relief at the prospect of hearing a story of an- 
 other's experiences, instead of dwelling upon her 
 own.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 " AULD LANG SYNE " 
 
 IN a low voice, Aunt Phyllis began: 
 " At home with my father, an' mother, an' 
 brother Nate, I had b'lieved I was happy 
 yes, very happy, an' so I was, but when my Jack 
 came into my life " 
 
 She paused an instant, surprised by the sudden 
 tightening of the girl's clasped hands upon her 
 knee; then, as if she had paused only to take a 
 longer breath, she continued : " Jack an' I had 
 been sweethearts for almost a year, an' we wanted 
 to marry an' have a little home of our own, but, 
 dearie, there was two drawbacks, an' they was 
 'bout all 'twas needed ter prevent one marryin' fer 
 some time. One was that father said I was too 
 young ter marry yet awhile, an' the other was that 
 Jack hadn't 'nough money ter go ter housekeepin', 
 an' I hadn't any ter help with. 
 
 " We talked the matter over, my Jack an' me, 
 talked until 'twas threadbare, an' then one day, 
 
 243
 
 244 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Jack come an' told me he was goin' ter sea. He 
 said he wasn't makin' headway on land, and he 
 wasn't willin' ter wait f'rever, nor keep me waitin'. 
 He said a number er fellows that he knew was 
 goin', an' he'd signed with ol' Cap'n Pritchard. 
 That was Sat'day, an' he was ter sail Monday. 
 
 " Dearie, I clung ter him, cryin' an' beggin' him 
 ter give it up. I told him I'd rather wait ten, yes 
 twenty, years fer him, than ter hev him go ter sea 
 an' git drownded, an' he tried ter comfort me, an' 
 laugh away my fears. Sunday I had ter go ter 
 church, for in them days 'twas thought ter be a 
 sin ter miss a single service. 
 
 " My eyes were red with cryin', so I walked 
 with my head bowed all the way ter church, an' 
 looked down in my lap when I sat in the pew. I 
 didn't understand a word er the sermon, fer over 
 an' over in my mind went this one thing : 
 
 " 'Jack's goin' ter sea. How can I bear it? ' 
 
 " Brother Nate done what I never knew him 
 ter do before. He reached fer my hand, an' held 
 it, like he meant me ter know he understood, and 
 was sympathizin' with me. Monday come, an' 
 half the gals I knew were racin' down the street, 
 their sweethearts with them, an' the whole crowd 
 laughin' an' jokin' as if they had gone wild with 
 the fun of a gay holiday.
 
 "AULD LANG SYNE" 245 
 
 "Holiday! It seemed like anything but that 
 ter me. 
 
 " Only sort er dim I remember standin' on the 
 wharf with Jack's arm around me, an' him tryin' 
 ter tell me how he'd surely get money, an' we'd 
 be married as soon as he come home. 
 
 " Nate stood jest far 'nough 'way ter let us hev 
 those last words together. The next thing I re- 
 member that Jack had gone, that Brother Nate 
 was standin' close beside me, an' that the other 
 gals was sayin' ter me: ' Cheer, Phyllis, cheer! ' 
 just as she was 'bout ter start. 
 
 " { Cheer! ' My voice had gone somewheres, 
 an' in its place there was somethin' big in my 
 throat that prevented a sound comin' out. 
 
 "'Cheer!' Why I'd no thought er the fine 
 ship er settin' out fer her fust voyage, er Cap'n 
 Pritchard, er the gold that my Jack had swore 
 he'd bring back ter me. All I knew was that 
 my Jack was goin' away; was gone! 
 
 " With starin' eyes, an' feelin' cold from head 
 ter foot, I stood watchin' 'til the vessel dis'peared 
 in the heavy fog that hung over the sea. Then I 
 remember, my brother took me by the hand, an' 
 he said: 
 
 " ' Come, Phyllis, it's no use watchin' any 
 longer,' an' I turned my back toward the wind an'
 
 246 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 wave that was takin' Jack from me, an' as if half 
 awake, an' in some kind o' troubled dream, I 
 walked 'long side er Nate toward home. Brother 
 Nate wa'n't much of er talker, never seemin' ter 
 hev much ter say, but he kep' close beside me, an' 
 managed so I got home 'thout bein' worried by the 
 crowd er laughin' gals that had been down ter the 
 wharf jest fer sport. The other lads that had 
 sailed away, was only friends, not sweethearts 
 pledged ter marry, an' they'd laughed gaily when 
 they went off, promisin' ter bring back gifts er 
 coral an' shells." 
 
 There was a long pause, and Sylvia asked softly : 
 "Did he return safely from that trip?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, an' remained home a while, an' we 
 were married. Twice after we were married he 
 went ter sea, and from the second trip he never 
 come back. He was taken sick, dearie, an' then 
 they buried him at sea." 
 
 Then Sylvia turned and hid her face on Aunt 
 Phyllis' knee. She was softly weeping, and a 
 gentle hand smoothed the bright ripples in her 
 hair, as she murmured: "There, there, dearie; 
 there, there. Maybe the tears will relieve ye a 
 bit. I chose the wrong kind o' tale, dearie. For- 
 give me, child. I should er chose one that might 
 cheer, but ye asked about my long life, an' me still
 
 "AULD LANG SYNE" 247 
 
 lookin' cheerful, an' I thought ye b'lieved I'd al- 
 ways been care free." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " came the half-smothered words 
 from Sylvia, her face still hidden. " It was just 
 the kind of tale I needed. I'd been thinking that 
 no girl was ever so unhappy as I that no one 
 had ever suffered so, and I was foolish to think 
 it. I never thought I'd tell my own affairs to 
 any one save the aunt who lives with me at ' The 
 Three Birches,' but now I thank you so for telling 
 me your own story, and, because I know you'll 
 keep it, I want to tell you mine : 
 
 " Aunt Zilla Bond was the only person I could 
 think of who would be at all likely to be willing 
 to come here with me. She has lived all her life 
 in the country, and for that reason, would be less 
 impatient of the dull life here than would a woman 
 who was city bred, but the old house is gloomy, 
 and sometimes I have found it a hard task to keep 
 back the tears. I dared not discourage Aunt Zilla, 
 but alone in my own room at night, it was different, 
 and more than once I've been weak enough to cry 
 myself to sleep." 
 
 " Poor child ! Poor child ! " Aunt Phyllis said 
 softly. " Tell me all 'bout the things that try ye, 
 an' not a soul, not even dear, good Ezry, will git a 
 word of it. Mebbe it'll ease yer heart ter tell it,
 
 248 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 an' it may look some different, after we talk it 
 over." 
 
 Her arm was around the girl's shoulders, and 
 Sylvia felt as if kindness and sympathy were just 
 at that moment a shield outspread to protect her, 
 to save her from herself. 
 
 Irma's visit had been the last straw, and since 
 that day, Sylvia had found it well-nigh impossible 
 to shake off a sense of depression. 
 
 In vain she had told herself that Jack's love 
 would hold firm and true in spite of separation; 
 that when he knew that the prize that she had en- 
 dured so much to win was so well worth attaining, 
 he would understand all and forgive all. 
 
 In vain she had tried to banish from her mind 
 all thought of Irma's visit, of the things that she 
 had said, and of the singular fact of her curiosity 
 regarding the name of Elmore. These things, 
 together with something strange in Irma's man- 
 ner, recurred to her with startling distinctness, 
 and day by day she found herself recalling inci- 
 dents of that visit until, at last, she had run away 
 to the Wiley farm, for a few hours, at least, to 
 leave the gloom of the old Durant house behind 
 her. 
 
 In the shelter of the vine-covered arbor, where 
 no curious one could possibly be listening, Sylvia
 
 "AULD LANG SYNE" 249 
 
 told of the arrival at " The Three Birches," and 
 of the life there, of the reason for remaining a 
 year and a day, of her aunt, Mrs. Daphne Van 
 Horn, of the gay life enjoyed at her home for 
 which she had exchanged the dull existence at the 
 Durant house, of Jack oh, how tenderly, faith- 
 fully she described Jack! 
 
 All these things she laid before Aunt Phyllis, 
 who listened with deep interest and concern. 
 
 14 1 know ye're right, dearie," she said, " an' 
 brave ye are ter be bound ter win the legacy fer 
 Jack an' yerself, but why not let him share the 
 secret, as well as me ? Poor boy, he's in the dark, 
 an' may be thinkin' ye find it easy ter git on with- 
 out him." 
 
 " Oh, but you don't know Jack," cried Sylvia. 
 " He is with his uncle who is a banker. The 
 uncle gave him the position rather grudgingly, be- 
 cause he had been estranged from his brother for 
 years, and that brother was Jack's father. Jack 
 has been, from the first, determined to make good, 
 and, gradually, he is working his way up. There 
 are two reasons for not telling him the magnitude 
 of the prize I am determined to win. Jack would 
 use every argument that he could think of to dis- 
 suade me from my resolve to win the legacy, and 
 one plea he would surely make : that I would un-
 
 250 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 dermine my health and weaken my nerves remain- 
 ing here at the old house. 
 
 " That may be so, but I am well and strong, 
 and, for some reason that I can not explain, I be- 
 lieve that I shall win out. Another reason is that 
 my Aunt Daphne, Mrs. Van Horn, declared that 
 Jack Stanwood wooed me because he believed me 
 to be sole heiress to the Van Horn millions. Jack 
 proved that to be false by urging me to marry him 
 at once, since I had lost Aunt Daphne's favor, and 
 live happily, in a small way until his salary was 
 large enough to provide greater comfort. When 
 I told Aunt Daphne, she sneered and told me that 
 as I had been reared and trained for a different 
 life, I should be dead weight, a veritable mill-stone 
 around the neck of a poor man. I knew that what 
 she said was true. What could I do that would 
 give me the right to the name of ' help-mate ' ? I 
 could not cook, I could not sew, nor had I any ac- 
 complishment worth mentioning. I could play 
 and sing well enough to please a not overexacting 
 audience, but not nearly well enough to attempt 
 to teach. Really, Aunt Daphne was right in that, 
 but entirely wrong in endeavoring to marry me to 
 a wealthy man whom I abhorred. 
 
 u If Jack and I are ever one "
 
 "AULD LANG SYNE" 251 
 
 " You will be, dearie. I'm sure of that," Aunt 
 Phyllis said quickly. 
 
 " I know Aunt Daphne would like to say that 
 the legacy made Jack hold true, but she shall not. 
 That is the only thing that keeps me from telling 
 Jack what great prosperity I shall bring to him. 
 He loved me when he thought me penniless, and 
 when we are reunited I shall know the joy of tell- 
 ing Aunt Daphne that Jack believed that the old 
 house was all that I was to inherit; that he wanted 
 me for myself."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 OVER THE WALL 
 
 A SKY blue and cloudless, coming to a softer 
 tint where the purple hills touched it, a 
 stretch of land as green as in the early 
 summer; and on the right, as one looked toward 
 the horizon, a grove of maples, their foliage tak- 
 ing on the tints that only autumn paints. 
 
 Above the trees peeped the red-roofed turrets 
 of the new club-house, of which every member was 
 justly proud. 
 
 Skilled player and novice were alike fond of 
 entertaining their friends there, first showing 
 them the club house, dining with them, and then 
 tramping over the links. 
 
 One thing was an annoyance, an eyesore to 
 every member of the club. It formed a blot on 
 an otherwise perfect picture, and that was a little 
 old cottage, shabby, and weather-beaten. 
 
 The long narrow strip of land upon which it 
 stood bordered the links upon one side, and the 
 fine stone wall that the club had built along that 
 boundary gave added beauty to its property, but 
 
 252
 
 OVER THE WALL 253 
 
 that wall running close to the cottage could not 
 hide it; and saucily its gable end peeped over, as 
 if laughing in the faces of those who wished it de- 
 molished. 
 
 Its owner, Mrs. Mehitable Renshaw, " Widder 
 an' taxpayer," as she proudly described herself, 
 was not disposed to sell. Again and again enthus- 
 iastic members had called upon her and endeav- 
 ored to persuade her to dispose of her property, 
 but large offers and small were alike u turned 
 down." 
 
 " Why sh'd I sell ? " she would ask. " I'm con- 
 tent ter stay here where I be. It don't make no 
 odds ter me that the hull crowd er ye want me ter 
 git out. I ain't a-goin' ter stir, so that's all there 
 is ter it." 
 
 Man after man had shouted himself hoarse in 
 endeavoring to convince her that by her obstinacy 
 she was depriving herself of money that she might 
 have; that it was her duty to "sell out." To 
 each and all she made the same reply : " I'm con- 
 tent ter live here, an' I'm goin' ter. Ef ye don't 
 like the looks er my house, that's nothin' ter me. 
 Ef it comes ter that, I don't admire yer men a 
 chasin' leetle balls all over creation, hittin' at 'em. 
 with things that look like the meanest kind of 
 hockeys an' most ginirally hittin' nothin' but air.
 
 254 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 I'm sure I ain't yet decided which of ye looks the 
 wust in yer plaid stockin's; the short fat men that's 
 shaped like beer-kegs on legs, er yer skinny bean- 
 pole men that are 'bout the style er storks. Both 
 kinds is a tur'ble funny sight, but I don't ask ye ter 
 desist f'm playin' yer silly game ef ye like it; 'n 
 fact I sometimes enjoy watchin' the fool game, fer 
 yer antics is as funny as any comic pictures, so I 
 watch yer, an' save the price er the papers with 
 the funny colored pages." 
 
 Close to the wall near the cottage a number of 
 scrub-oaks had been cut down, but from their roots 
 had sprung young shoots that had been freshly 
 green all summer and now wore the gayest tints 
 of red and russet. They had grown rapidly, and 
 they were well above the wall like gaudy shrubs, 
 their bright leaves flaunting in the sunlight, as if 
 the heart of the tree, still living, gloried that the 
 axe had not entirely vanquished it. 
 
 Mrs. Mehitable Renshaw, very deaf, and like 
 many, thus afflicted, desperately suspicious, had 
 tried in vain to discover the reason for the sud- 
 den invasion of her premises by Irma Delwin. 
 Horatio Delwin she had known years ago, but 
 that was before he had married, and was still 
 struggling bravely to make his way in the world. 
 She could not have told if he were third, fourth
 
 OVER THE WALL 255 
 
 or fifth cousin, and she felt no interest as to just 
 what the relationship might be. Irma was the 
 fruit of the first marriage, and when she was 
 little, he had married again. Of these matters 
 Mrs. Renshaw knew nothing, and upon Irma's 
 arrival at the cottage, her introduction of herself 
 had fallen flat. 
 
 'Ye say ye're Horatio Delwin's daughter? 
 Wai, what p'ssessed ye ter call here? I may as 
 well tell ye, I ain't goin' ter stand bein' teased ter 
 sell any er my old-fashioned chany, nor any er 
 my old mahog'ny tables, fer I want 'em myself." 
 
 Irma's temper was at boiling point, but she gov- 
 erned it. Usually she spoke her mind, but she 
 had come to the cottage for an especial purpose, 
 and she was determined to remain. She assumed 
 a gentleness quite remarkable, when one remem- 
 bered that this attribute was foreign to her nature. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Renshaw, we've not been as 
 friendly as we should like to have been, social 
 matters have so closely occupied us," she said, 
 " but I took a run down here to look you up, 
 and," 
 
 " Not bein' much of a sight, I'm thinkin' ye'll 
 be wondering which would be the shortest way to 
 run back," Mrs. Renshaw said sharply. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," Irma said quickly, " and you
 
 256 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 may know how much I wanted to come, when I 
 tell you that I've been having a gay summer, and 
 I've left the music, the dancing, and all the jollity 
 to come for a few weeks' stay here at the cottage 
 with you." 
 
 A gasp of astonishment, of dismay, came from 
 the thin lips of Mrs. Renshaw. 
 
 " Oh, I can pay you enough to make it worth 
 while for you to let me remain, now I'm here," 
 Irma said sharply. 
 
 She had expected her arrival to be considered an 
 honor conferred. Instead, it was evident that the 
 woman, compelled to play hostess, was worse than 
 unwilling. She was actually angry because of the 
 invasion. 
 
 " I shall stay!" thought Irma. 
 
 " It'd cost me much as two dollars a week ter 
 keep ye, an' I know ye think me mean an' small 
 ter speak of it, but I have ter, fer I hain't got the 
 two dollars. There!" 
 
 " I'll give you five each week that I am here if 
 you'll only let me stay," Irma said. 
 
 It was maddening to coax, but if she accom- 
 plished all that she had planned to do, oh, that 
 would repay tenfold for all the hated wheedling, 
 for all the privation she would endure, for the 
 dullness, for everything.
 
 OVER THE WALL 257 
 
 " Five dollars! " gasped Mrs. Renshaw, " See 
 here, 'twon't be hotel fare, fer I ain't no cook." 
 
 " I don't care what food I have if only it is 
 neatly cooked. All I need, just now, is to know 
 that I may remain here for a few weeks." 
 
 " Hidin' from somebody?" was the curious 
 question. 
 
 " Of course not. I'm tired, and need rest and 
 quiet," Irma said shortly, and removing her hat 
 and gloves, appeared to have settled the question 
 of remaining. 
 
 The three days after Irma's arrival at the cot- 
 tage had been stormy, and as she had spent the 
 time in reading books that she had brought with 
 her, she had been an exceedingly uninteresting per- 
 son to watch. The fourth day proved to be ideal, 
 and she announced that she intended to spend it 
 out of doors. 
 
 " Sh'd think ye would, 'tho' it's dull, fair 
 weather or foul hereabouts. Nothin' ter 'muse 
 yerself indoors, an' fer that matter, what is there 
 ter do outdoors? " 
 
 Irma made no reply, but a half hour later, 
 slipped out and taking up her position close be- 
 hind the oak saplings, stood waiting, waiting. 
 
 Mrs. Renshaw saw her from the kitchen win- 
 dow, and immediately went softly up-stairs, where
 
 258 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 behind the thin cotton draperies at the window, 
 she could have the joy of watching without being 
 seen. 
 
 " Now, what's she up ter, I'd like ter know? " 
 she whispered, then, " She came here fer some- 
 thin', I'll be bound!" 
 
 Nothing happened, however, and Mrs. Ren- 
 shaw was disappointed. 
 
 " Wonder how long she'll keep it up ? " she mut- 
 tered at twilight. 
 
 Day after day Irma watched, moving forward 
 whenever a figure came in sight, and withdrawing 
 when he advanced toward where she was stand- 
 ing. There was something uncanny in the per- 
 sistent vigil like a spider in its web, watching for 
 unwary prey. 
 
 There came a day when, as she stood in the 
 usual covert, she saw the one for whom she had 
 been waiting Jack Stanwood but another 
 man was with him. 
 
 They were not playing, and as they tramped 
 along, appeared to be earnestly talking of some- 
 thing in which both were keenly interested. They 
 passed close to the wall behind which Irma was 
 standing, and although completely hidden by the 
 mass of oak foliage, her cheeks burned hotly, as 
 if she had been caught peeping. She was disap-
 
 OVER THE WALL 259 
 
 pointed because, after persistent watching, Jack, 
 when he appeared, had not been alone, but she was 
 not discouraged. Rather, she was more firmly 
 determined than ever, to carry out the scheme that 
 had sent her to the cottage. 
 
 On days when Irma waited by the wall, Mrs. 
 Renshaw's household tasks were neglected because 
 when the girl slipped out to her place behind the 
 hedge of saplings, her vigilant hostess flew up- 
 stairs, and, peeping between the cotton hangings 
 watched, as from a loophole in a tower. An hour 
 would pass two, three. 
 
 "Good land! I wish somethin' would hap- 
 pen!" she would complain, and the girl who 
 watched, began to feel much the same, but she at 
 least had a fixed purpose, whereas Mrs. Renshaw 
 was simply waiting to gratify her curiosity. She 
 dared not question Irma, but daily her longing to 
 know what kept the girl at her post increased. 
 
 It was not courtesy that held her in control and 
 hushed the questions that so often rose to her lips. 
 It was the fear that Irma would abruptly leave 
 her that caused her to appear as if unaware of 
 anything unusual. 
 
 Irma wondered that Mrs. Renshaw did not no- 
 tice that she spent long hours at the wall. So long
 
 260 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 as the five dollars was placed in her eager hand 
 each week, Mehitable Renshaw was determined 
 to be blind as well as deaf to any freak that Irma 
 might display. 
 
 It was so unusual for her to curb her curiosity, 
 however, that the strain was telling upon her. 
 Fortunately, the little cottage was isolated and the 
 neighbors too distant to prod her, for that would 
 have made the situation unbearable. 
 
 At last the chance came for which Irma had 
 been waiting. Several times she had seen him, 
 as with others, he had been playing, but she knew 
 that it would be wasting ammunition to greet him 
 when others were present. She had not come so 
 far to enjoy a brief chat with Jack Stanwood. 
 No, indeed. There surely would come a better 
 opportunity. She must wait. 
 
 And when it came, it caught her off her guard. 
 All the morning she had watched, leaving her 
 covert only long enough for the noon meal. 
 After lunch she had stood behind the wall until 
 weary, when, believing that he had forsaken the 
 club for some other pleasure, she turned, and en- 
 tered the house. Not willing to wholly give up 
 her vigil for the day, she took a book from the 
 table and going over to the window, sat down. 
 
 She did not intend to read, but the book would
 
 OVER THE WALL 261 
 
 act as a blind. When Mrs. Renshaw appeared, 
 she would avoid conversing with her by seeming 
 to read. Of course Mrs. Renshaw immediately 
 appeared. Of what use longer to peep from an 
 upper window when Irma had left the wall? 
 
 " Was ye chilly out there? " 
 
 ' No," Irma replied, and turned a page to im- 
 ply that her attention was held by the story. 
 
 " Why don't ye walk 'round 'nstead o' standin' 
 still?" ' 
 
 Mrs. Renshaw's curiosity had reached the acute 
 stage where restraint was impossible. The girl 
 bent lower over her book, and made no reply. 
 
 ' Wai, I guess ye heared, fer even ef ye're some 
 deef, ye ain't near as deef as I be." 
 
 Irma's lips parted for an angry retort, but, as 
 she looked up from the book, she saw a well- 
 known figure coming up over the rising land at the 
 far end of the links. There was no mistaking that 
 figure. Who but Stanwood possessed such shoul- 
 ders, such lithe limbs, so fine a head, and above all 
 things, was not that brave carriage his only? A 
 glance in Mrs. Renshaw's direction showed that, 
 for the time, at least, she was a fixture. Irma 
 sprang from her chair, threw her book upon the 
 lounge, and ran out to the wall. 
 
 She wished that Mrs. Renshaw had not been sit-
 
 262 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ting right there, but she could not lose this long- 
 sought opportunity for fear of what a curious 
 old woman might think. Let her think ! 
 
 She did think, and her first idea was that the 
 girl was vexed with her. 
 
 " She was tur'ble uppish ter be 'fended 'cause 
 I axed a question. Good land! Can't a body 
 ax a question? " 
 
 She rose, and moving toward the window, 
 looked out just in time to see a fine-looking man 
 courteously helping Irma down on the other side 
 of the wall. 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it? A giniwine 'lopement, an' 
 her so looney with love 't she's gone off 'thout 
 her hat ! Beats all how crazy a gal will git over 
 a good-lookin' feller. I never felt that way to- 
 ward Renshaw, 'tho' mebbe what I done was most 
 as foolish as 'lopin'. We went ter the parsonage, 
 ter be sure, but we married on love, an' nothin' 
 a month, so I guess it goes with love ter be pooty 
 middlin' foolish!" 
 
 She left the window for the sole reason that 
 those whom she had been watching were out of 
 sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 
 
 AT the club, Stanwood had expected to meet a 
 friend whose company he always enjoyed 
 because when they talked, they dealt 
 frankly with the subject in hand, neither fearing 
 that the other would take offense because of a dif- 
 ference of opinion. 
 
 Sometimes they smoked in silence, with that per- 
 fect understanding that made it impossible for one 
 to think the other moody. 
 
 If Donald Trefton noticed a change in Jack, 
 he at least appeared unaware of it. 
 
 A change there was, for Jack was not the bright 
 cheery companion of the early spring, and Tref- 
 ton, true friend that he was, worried much, but 
 said not a word of his anxiety to Jack. 
 
 " All right, as far as his health is concerned," 
 he would say to himself, " and getting on fa- 
 mously with that crusty old uncle of his, the rich 
 old cudmudgeon, but something has put a damper 
 on him. I believe, upon my soul, it's a woman! " 
 
 263
 
 264 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Having reached this conclusion, he would give 
 vent to a prolonged whistle, and then : " I sol- 
 emnly declare my intention of remaining a bache- 
 lor!" 
 
 Jack, when he had reached the club, had gone 
 straight to the smoking-room; but, for some rea- 
 son, Trefton was not there. 
 
 "Hello! What's up?" cried one of a group 
 of his friends. 
 
 " Looks as if the devil was to pay," remarked 
 another. 
 
 " I'm all right," Jack replied a bit sharply, " but 
 I expected to meet Trefton here. Any one seen 
 him?" 
 
 " Hasn't arrived yet. Why not put up a card : 
 1 Lost, strayed or stolen, good-looking chap, a 
 strapper, six feet plus. Answers to the name of 
 Donald. No questions asked if !" 
 
 Jack had turned on his heel, and gone out for 
 a tramp over the links. 
 
 " Uncommonly touchy just now," complained 
 the very young member who had teased him. 
 
 Jack knew that comments would be made after 
 his departure, but if he remained, there would be 
 chaffing to be endured, and he was in no mood for 
 that. Enforced absence from Sylvia was becom- 
 ing harder and harder to bear, and the long silence
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 265 
 
 a letter would have been something that is, 
 such a letter as she once wrote when, for a few 
 days, they were apart. Now, week after week 
 went by with never a word. 
 
 " You must not write unless you can refrain 
 from coaxing me to give up that which I came here 
 to attain." 
 
 Over and over these words repeated themselves 
 until Jack wished that they would cease. How 
 could he write, and not plead ? And of what com- 
 fort had that last trip to the old house been? He 
 had held her in his arms once more, and the mem- 
 ory only made his present longing greater. Pas- 
 sionately he had kissed her cheeks, her lips, her 
 white neck, but did the memory satisfy his hunger 
 now? He was hurt, too deeply hurt, too 
 angry to bear jokes or teasing that, at another 
 time would have failed to ruffle his good temper, 
 and he had left the club-house, starting out on a 
 tramp that should ensure him the privilege, a great 
 privilege at that time, of being alone. 
 
 He did not see the waiting figure of the girl 
 until he had passed the saplings; would not have 
 noticed her then but for her cheery greeting. He 
 was striding along, his eyes downcast, when her 
 shrill voice awoke him, as from an unhappy 
 dream.
 
 266 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Why, what a surprise ! Who ever would 
 have expected to see you out here?" she called, 
 with a forced laugh. 
 
 A shadow passed over his face, that Irma either 
 did not, or would not see. 
 
 "Do take me over the links. I'm simply wild 
 to see their extent." Boldly she extended her 
 hand. What choice had he but to assist her over ? 
 
 Courteously, but without apparent interest, he 
 lifted his cap, murmured something about its hav- 
 ing been a surprise to have met her there, and of- 
 fered her his hand. He did not say it was a 
 pleasure. One could place confidence in what he 
 did say, because he had the trait of meaning what 
 he said, and he looked with contempt upon those 
 men who had acquired the habit of paying vacuous 
 compliments, believing that courtesy demanded it. 
 
 " Did you notice the outrageous old cottage just 
 over the wall? " twittered Irma, continuing before 
 Jack could reply; "It's weather-beaten outside, 
 and desperately inconvenient to live in. I should 
 never have come there, but Mrs. Renshaw, the old 
 lady who lives there, is a distant relative of 
 father's, and she was feeling neglected, so it was 
 plainly the duty of some member of the family to 
 come here for a while and cheer her. I was hav- 
 ing a lovely summer, and a lot of pleasure planned ;
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 267 
 
 but no one else was willing to come, so I wouldn't 
 let the poor old lady feel like that. I dropped 
 everything and came. She's so deaf, I'm really 
 quite weary trying to make her hear, and her dis- 
 position is so unpleasant that it makes the visit 
 here doubly hard, but I feel it my duty to remain 
 for a while and cheer her." 
 
 Irma's expression was that of one who was 
 sweetly resigned to suffering torture for the good, 
 or comfort of another. She looked up at Jack 
 for approval, but he made no comment, simply 
 saying: 
 
 " You will be here for a while? " 
 
 " Oh, I think so," she replied, " two or three 
 weeks, at least." 
 
 For a time they walked in silence. He had 
 never liked Irma Delwin, and just now, when he 
 had gone out from the club-house in order to be 
 alone, her company was irritating. 
 
 When they had walked to the farthest border 
 of the links, Irma realized that Jack was not in- 
 terested in any subject that she proposed. Occa- 
 sionally he had spoken, but what little he had to 
 say had been of the most impersonal charac- 
 ter. 
 
 He made a movement as if about to start to re- 
 turn, but she had no notion of at once going back.
 
 268 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 She was angry because of his lack of interest, and 
 his apparent eagerness to return and thus rid him- 
 self of her company. He was not rude, for he 
 was never that, but he was so coolly courteous that 
 her effort to charm him fell flat. 
 
 Well, she could pay him in full measure for his 
 indifference, and, at the same time, accomplish her 
 object in coming to the cottage. 
 
 " Oh, don't let's go back quite yet," she said. 
 " I've been wanting so to enjoy the view here. I 
 knew, as I looked from the upper windows at the 
 cottage, that it must be charming, and those hills 
 so blue away off there oh, it is indeed lovely. 
 I'm sure there never was a prettier view." 
 
 The Delwins were always traveling, and it 
 must have been that somewhere, during their jour- 
 neyings, they had seen some spot far more beauti- 
 ful than the very ordinary landscape upon which 
 Irma stood gazing. This thought flitted through 
 Jack's mind, but he restrained a longing to ex- 
 press it. 
 
 " Have you heard the latest news? " she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Probably not," Jack said, " I have been so 
 closely occupied with business matters during the 
 day and so tired when evening came, that I've been 
 nowhere where news is generally circulated."
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 269 
 
 " Oh, well, it's not announced yet, but I am not 
 the only one who knows." 
 
 " Now I think of it, I believe you mean Miss 
 Vernon, and the elderly nobleman whom she is 
 said to have captured," Jack ventured. 
 
 " That news is nearly thirty days old," Irma 
 replied with a light, nervous laugh. 
 
 " No, the news that I referred to is surely ' long- 
 distance ' news, and comes from the drollest of 
 out-of-the-way places, although in that little bor- 
 ough, I am told that Squire Luke Elmore is con- 
 sidered quite a personage; and now, after living 
 the life of prosperous country gentleman for 
 years, he proposes to leave his bachelor days be- 
 hind him, hence his engagement." 
 
 " Never heard of him," Jack remarked indif- 
 ferently. 
 
 Here was the chance for which Irma had 
 planned. 
 
 " No? Well, he is doubtless so happy that he 
 thinks himself more important than ever, and 
 imagines the whole world agog, because all the 
 rustics in Blossomville are staring. Sylvia seems 
 very happy, and, " 
 
 "Sylvia!" 
 
 It seemed more like a cry than a name forcibly 
 exclaimed.
 
 270 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Why, certainly Sylvia Sylvia Durant," 
 Irma said, cruelly enjoying his evident suffering. 
 
 One would have thought that the sight of his 
 strong face, white to the lips, and then, after a 
 moment, suffused with a sudden rush of color, 
 would have made an appeal to her better nature, 
 only that that was just what she did not possess. 
 Cruel she was, and furiously jealous, and what is 
 so devoid of mercy as a jealous woman? 
 
 " I took a trip to Blossomville just before I 
 came here, and really, dull as the place is, the 
 months spent there have worked wonders in Sylvia. 
 She was so pale when she was in the social whirl 
 with Mrs. Van Horn, so well, not exactly deli- 
 cate, but, " 
 
 She glanced at Jack. 
 
 " Oh, you needn't look tragic," she said, with a 
 hard little laugh. 
 
 ;< We all know that Sylvia was considered beau- 
 tiful, and surely I am willing to admit it, but it is 
 certainly an added attraction, that rose-color that 
 has tinted her cheeks. Her eyes are brighter, too. 
 Oh, but she's the picture of health and happiness ! 
 Of course, Mr. Elmore is not wealthy, as fortunes 
 are rated in our set, but really, he is well-to-do. 
 I thought his house looked truly comfortable, and 
 its grounds cover many acres. Fearfully hum-
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 271 
 
 drum life to settle down in a poky little place like 
 Blossomville, but if one is so desperately in love, 
 I suppose the location matters little. I truly be- 
 lieve Sylvia is " 
 
 ' You will pardon me, I am sure, if I interrupt 
 to say that I must now take you back to the place 
 where you are staying. I have a matter that re- 
 quires my attention, and so can not spend more 
 time now on the links," Jack said in a voice that, 
 while unnatural, was at least steady. It had cost 
 a desperate effort to control it so that it should not 
 quiver with pain. 
 
 " Oh, surely, I would not think of detaining 
 you," was the curt reply. Irma was angry. 
 
 Two matters of deep interest to her had brought 
 her to the cottage. One was to turn Jack against 
 Sylvia Durant, and the other was so to charm him 
 that she might win him for herself. She had seen, 
 at the start, that he was not to be won by any 
 charm that she possessed. Had he been only in- 
 different, she might have persisted. Hers was not 
 a fine, or sensitive nature. She cared not at all 
 how she obtained his regard. " Any means to an 
 end," had ever been her motto, but Jack had been 
 worse than indifferent. He had forced himself 
 to be courteous, but underneath his perfect manner, 
 a duller girl than Irma could easily read his lack
 
 272 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 of interest. Plainly, he had wished that on his 
 walk he had been unaccompanied. Well, she had 
 made him see that his regard for Sylvia had been 
 a vain and idle thing, since she was engaged to an- 
 other. It had been a pleasure to tell him that. 
 To be sure, Irma knew that she had deliberately 
 falsified, and her cheek reddened guiltily as she 
 thought of it. 
 
 Over and over, with condemning force, the pen- 
 ciled lines in the little red book repeated them- 
 selves, and she wished that she could shut them 
 from her mind. " I am beginning to hate the 
 name of ' Elmore.' Why must I be annoyed with 
 him? Is it not enough that I have to remain 
 here?" Would those lines forever haunt her? 
 Evidently Sylvia detested the man to whom Irma 
 had reported her betrothed ! 
 
 ' All's fair in love and war,' and this is both. 
 Tho' it's maddening to admit it, I've loved this 
 man, who has hardly a word for me, and surely 
 I've fought a mighty battle with my temper to 
 keep it from bursting forth while enduring the 
 companionship of old Mrs. Renshaw and her 
 stuffy little cottage, and what have I gained? " 
 
 These were Irma's angry thoughts as she 
 tramped along beside Stanwood.
 
 HEARD ON THE LINKS 273 
 
 Then an evil light brightened her small black 
 eyes. 
 
 Yes, there was a doubtful joy. There was the 
 chance that she had touched Jack's pride with a 
 blade so keen, and so skillfully poisoned that he 
 would be sufficiently prejudiced against Sylvia to 
 refrain from writing to her, or going to her, even 
 if his love for her still lived. 
 
 Irma made an attempt at conversation to cover 
 her chagrin, but it proved futile, and cheated 
 neither Stanwood nor herself. Her lack of inter- 
 est in subjects which she plainly proposed for the 
 sole object of breaking the silence was all too evi- 
 dent, and Stanwood answered in monosyllables. 
 When they reached that part of the wall, where 
 a short time before she had greeted him, she 
 turned sharply about, and for the first time on 
 the homeward walk, looked directly up at him, 
 then quickly turned away. 
 
 " Good-by," she said, as she placed a foot on 
 a projecting stone in the wall. Ignoring his prof- 
 fered hand, she clambered over, springing to the 
 ground on the other side. 
 
 " I am sorry to have taken so much of your 
 time," she said, " but having seen the links, I shall 
 not need to be shown over them again. I too have
 
 274 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 matters calling for immediate attention. Doubt- 
 less it will be some time before we meet again." 
 
 She was gone like a flash, vanishing around the 
 corner of the cottage. 
 
 Stanwood, half-stunned by the news that he 
 had heard, realized in a vague way that her de- 
 parture had been abrupt, but stronger was the 
 feeling of relief that once more he was alone. 
 His mind had been harassed by unhappy thoughts 
 when he had left the club-house an hour before. 
 Now, with the miserable tale of Irma's invention 
 ringing in his ears, he was wretched. 
 
 He had been hungry for news of Sylvia. What 
 an answer to the cry of his heart!
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 ESCAPE FROM SCRUTINY 
 
 THE firm of Stanwood and Broadbent stood 
 for all that was exact and upright in busi- 
 ness. Marcus Stanwood, the senior part- 
 ner, had long ago acquired an immense fortune, 
 yet he did not retire. 
 
 Some there were who said that he was too ob- 
 stinate to retire, and also that he feared that some 
 other man might step into his place, and become 
 as prominent as he had been. A shrewd man, a 
 man whose fingers seemed fairly to turn to gold 
 whatever they touched, he was believed to be a 
 paragon of business sagacity, while men who had 
 toiled bravely, yet had not " made good," as the 
 saying is, turned for advice to Marcus Stanwood, 
 multi-millionaire. 
 
 To be sure, they did not always receive it. The 
 old saying that that which is worth-while is rarely 
 given away, is true. It is usually the person who 
 has never attained either fame or fortune who 
 
 275
 
 276 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 feels competent to tell others how to win success. 
 One is often tempted to ask these people to try 
 their freely-offered formula and then, if it 
 " works," the whole world will follow in their 
 footsteps. Grudgingly old Marcus Stanwood had 
 given a position to Jack. 
 
 " You needn't expect any especial favor, young 
 man, for the fact that you are my nephew will 
 have no influence with me. If you can prove that 
 you are worth the wages offered you to begin with, 
 you may remain in my employ. If, later, you 
 can convince us that you are capable of filling a 
 more important place, you will be promoted and 
 thus given the chance to prove that, too. 
 
 " This does not mean that I am in any sense in- 
 terested in you, other than that we are always 
 looking for men who are worth-while. You may 
 report to-morrow morning, ready to go to work. 
 Men whom we hire are expected to work. We 
 don't need ornamental men here. Good morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Having thus freed his mind, Marcus Stanwood 
 wheeled around in his chair and commenced to 
 open his mail. 
 
 " I will be here to-morrow morning, and I will 
 say now that I am determined to climb. Good- 
 morning, sir."
 
 ESCAPE FROM SCRUTINY 277 
 
 It may be that the man at the desk answered 
 with a faint growl, for that was a fixed habit, 
 but if he did, Jack did not hear it. 
 
 How he had longed to go out from that office, 
 and never return. He felt as if the position had 
 been thrown at him, as a bone might have been 
 thrown to a hungry dog. 
 
 Pride is a fine attribute, if one also possesses the 
 wherewithal with which to support it. 
 
 Jack, possessed of little save pride and ambi- 
 tion, swallowed the first, summoned the second to 
 his aid, and appeared at the offices of Stanwood 
 & Broadbent just as the great door opened on the 
 following morning. 
 
 For five years he had worked harder than any 
 other man employed there, and during that time, 
 he had twice earned promotion. The last two 
 of those five years had been brightened by the 
 thought that he was delving to place himself 
 where he could give Sylvia comfort, if not luxury, 
 in a home of their own. Their engagement had 
 been a happy secret, and the fact that they had 
 had to resort to various ruses to meet, had only 
 added zest to their romance. 
 
 Then Mrs. Van Horn had determined to sepa- 
 rate them, and Sylvia, taking the reins in her own 
 hands, had gone to the old house at Blossomville,
 
 278 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 his pleading for an immediate marriage proving 
 unavailing. 
 
 How he had worked while they had been apart ! 
 And now? 
 
 Only a day had passed since his latest advance- 
 ment, with a proportionate increase of salary. 
 Old Marcus Stanwood's small eyes had glittered 
 when he had called Jack to his private office to 
 notify him, and they had glittered, not with the 
 joy of rewarding earnest endeavor, of acknowl- 
 edging that Jack had made good. No, indeed! 
 No one ever heard of the old banker having done 
 anything like that! No, the flash in his eyes was 
 the sudden light of greed, that the young man had 
 proved himself capable of making more money 
 for the firm more money, that was the thing 
 that always awakened Marcus Stanwood, that 
 drove the sullen look from his face, and made him 
 look almost alive, for the time being. 
 
 On the day that Jack had left the club-house 
 for a tramp over the links, his mind had been oc- 
 cupied with a problem that was far more baffling 
 than any that he had faced in the office, and there 
 were problems a plenty there. Those business 
 problems were solvable if only a fellow strove
 
 ESCAPE FROM SCRUTINY 279 
 
 with a will, but here was one that he must work 
 out in solitude. 
 
 Every thought, every act was for Sylvia, and 
 the joy of this latest reward for persistent en- 
 deavor was the thought of the added comfort 
 that it would afford her. How should he tell 
 her? That was the puzzling question that he 
 was engrossed with when he set out. Simple 
 matter, surely, to write to her; but how could he 
 write of greater prosperity and refrain from urg- 
 ing her to relent, to give up what he honestly be- 
 lieved to be a " freak," a " stunt," and make him 
 happy? To go to her with the good news would 
 be delightful, but even more difficult to resist the 
 temptation to plead that the time of separation 
 might be shortened. 
 
 " I won't resist! I'll go to Sylvia and tell her 
 that now surely we can make the little home that 
 we both have longed for. I was a fool to leave 
 Blossomville that morning in a huff. I should 
 have renewed my pleading no, better than that 
 
 I should have insisted that longer waiting was 
 out of the question. Sylvia has a will of her own 
 
 what woman who is worth-while has not ? But 
 I now believe that she might have reconsidered, 
 might even consented to leave the old Durant
 
 280 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 house at once, if I had been firmer. I'll go to her 
 to-morrow." 
 
 At that point, Irma's shrill voice had aroused 
 him, and upon looking up he had seen her as she 
 stood looking over the low wall and beckoning 
 to him. He had reached a spot so near her that 
 it was impossible for him to pretend not to have 
 heard her calling, or to ignore her outstretched 
 hands. Then oh, the wretched news that she 
 had told with such evident delight ! Again and 
 again he asked himself why he implicitly believed 
 what she had told, but as often as he strove to 
 put the tale from him, the remembrance of 
 Sylvia's firmness in the face of his pleading would 
 come back to him and the bitter feeling that she 
 seemed able to live without him would sting like 
 a dart. Then the description of Elmore's home 
 and its surroundings would recur to him with com- 
 pelling force. Had Sylvia been so happy in the 
 bond that pledged her to another, that she had 
 shown Irma his possessions? It must be so. 
 How else would Irma, a stranger in the village, 
 know the place, or to whom it belonged? 
 
 Engaged to another ! How strange a thing to 
 have heard, and stranger yet, that Sylvia should 
 have hastened to tell it to a girl whom she had 
 never liked, while he, so far as she knew, was in
 
 ESCAPE FROM SCRUTINY 281 
 
 the dark, feeling that, although estranged, she still 
 was pledged to him. To be sure, she had not 
 asked him to release her, but for what did that 
 count? That she had given her heart to another 
 only proved how poor a thing was the tie that had 
 bound them together, for life, he had believed! 
 
 His was a strong, loving nature and Sylvia 
 Durant had held him captive, heart and soul. He 
 could never have thought of putting another in 
 her place, the place in his life that she had made 
 her own. He had believed her to be as steadfast 
 as himself. 
 
 ' What has changed her? " he asked again and 
 again; and then, in desperation, he had told old 
 Marcus Stanwood that he would take the four 
 months' business trip that an older man had dis- 
 liked to take and had all but refused when his em- 
 ployer had proposed it. The older man had a 
 wife, and an invalid son, and he had dreaded to be 
 so long away from them. 
 
 '' I've no one who will care if I am away for 
 months," Jack had said bitterly, to which his 
 uncle had replied shortly: 
 
 " So much the better for you. You don't speak 
 as if you appreciated your freedom, but I can tell 
 you, for I know, you're a lucky chap to have no 
 hangers-on. Mighty lucky!"
 
 282 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 It was never lucky to contradict Marcus Stan- 
 wood, so Jack remained silent. 
 
 For four months he would have but little leis- 
 ure, and that would be a blessing, for now leisure 
 meant opportunity to think, and his thoughts were 
 not cheerful company. He believed that he had 
 chosen wisely. It would please his uncle greatly 
 that he should take the long hard trip ; it was an- 
 other evidence of his willingness to work. For 
 himself it meant absence from those who knew 
 him and could question him as to his retirement 
 from all the social pleasures that he was wont to 
 enjoy. 
 
 Even Trefton annoyed him, good fellow though 
 he was. Not that Trefton asked impertinent 
 questions, but often when he appeared engrossed 
 in his paper or magazine, Jack had caught him 
 casting furtive yes, anxious glances in his direc- 
 tion, and even that, although it expressed kindly 
 solicitude, was annoying. 
 
 It was surely wise to take the trip that would 
 give four months' respite from watchful eyes. 
 
 " Forward no mail to me that may be delivered 
 here," he told his stenographer. " There will 
 be nothing requiring my immediate attention. 
 Hold everything until I return."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 
 
 EZRA WILEY leaned upon the little gate 
 and looked eagerly up and down the road 
 in the hope that some one might be in 
 sight. He loved his good wife, Temperance, and 
 never tired of boasting of her energy that, in 
 truth, was prodigious, but there were times when 
 he fled from the turmoil in the house, caused by 
 a sudden insatiable greed for housecleaning. 
 At such times confusion reigned. The house, 
 exquisitely clean at all times, must on these occa- 
 sions be turned upside down, and Ezra would de- 
 clare that there was not a chair to sit on or a place 
 where he could put his hat and coat. 
 
 " More room outdoors," he would say, and 
 out he would go and remain out, appearing only 
 at meal times, and then warily. 
 
 " Shan't go in till the harricane has abated," 
 was his invariable threat. Now, as he leaned 
 over the gate, he saw a man approaching, and the 
 uproar at the house was, for the time, forgotten 
 
 283
 
 284 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 in the pleasure of having some one to talk with. 
 
 " I do declare, Ezry, I'm glad ter see ye," said 
 the man, who proved to be an old friend and 
 neighbor who had not been in Blossomville for 
 some years. 
 
 " Why, Zeke Wilmot, I am glad 'nough ter see 
 ye here once more. Come inter the garding an' 
 set down a spell." 
 
 " Ye've prospered, Ezry," the man said, for at 
 a glance he saw that the house and barn were in 
 good repair, the land well tilled, and that his old 
 neighbor had added many acres to what had 
 originally been a small farm. 
 
 ' Yes, I hev, an' Zeke, I've allus been some fa- 
 vored, but I've been uncommon fort'nate ever 
 sence Aunt Phyllis came ter make her home with 
 us. She's a blessin'." 
 
 ' That's the sweet-faced woman I remember 
 seein' here jest 'fore I left the village. She was a 
 widder, wa'n't she, Ezry? " 
 
 " Yes, she's a widder, but she's so used ter bein' 
 a relict that she's reel cheerful now," Ezra re- 
 plied. 
 
 ' Ye mean she's resigned? " 
 
 14 Why, yes, that's 'bout it. Ye see, she was mar- 
 ried ter a sailor feller when she was seventeen, an' 
 in less'n two year, he took sick an' was buried at
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 285 
 
 sea, an' while she did mourn fer him as was 
 proper, I hold 'twas easier fer her ter be resigned, 
 bein's she'd never seen much of him," quoth Ezra, 
 " but on the whole I don't know as 'twas, either," 
 he resumed, " fer when ye come ter think on't, 
 seein' so little of him, he quite nat'rally 'peared ter 
 be 'most a angel, whereas, ef he'd lived, quite 
 likely he might hev turned out ter be somethin' 
 else. He might hev been a prize, an' then again 
 he might hev been such that she'd been even more 
 resigned than she is now! " 
 
 "Good land, Ezry, how ye talk! " exclaimed 
 Zeke Wilmot. 
 
 " Oh, I ain't sayin' nothing agin him," Ezra 
 hastened to say. " He was a reel nice young 
 feller, but 'twas only last week the parson stopped 
 as he was goin' by, an' he says, says he : ' Men 
 that's gone has made their record, but ye never 
 know when some good man will git full er the ol' 
 Nick, an' cut up in such a way that his life-hist'ry 
 is spiled fer makin' good readin'.' 
 
 " l But parson,' I said, ' they's some that would 
 buy that kind of a hist'ry book, where the tur'ble 
 good kind ye'd hev ter give ter 'em, an' then ye'd 
 not be sure they'd read it.' 'Ezry! Ezry! 
 Ye're some worldly,' he said, but I noticed that 
 when I laughed, he jined in."
 
 286 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Oh, he's seen somethin' er the world ef he is 
 settled down in this leetle village," Zeke remarked 
 sagely. 
 
 " He's always tellin' 'bout Charity, an' what a 
 awful sight it covers, an' that time he said that 
 some good men got full er the OF Nick, an' spiled 
 their life hist'ry, he tried ter fix 'em up a bit by 
 sayin' that they prob'ly'd repent 'fore their last 
 days came. ' It's never too late ter mend, ye 
 know, Ezry,' he said, 'an ' I agreed with him, 
 fer I know 'twas so, 'tho' what he meant, and 
 what / had in mind wa'n't jest the same thing. 
 I was thinkin' er the time when Temp'rance was 
 away on a visit. I und'took ter mend my 
 wes'kit, an' I patched a hole, an' done it fair ter 
 middlin', an' wound up by sewin' on a button jest 
 as the clock struck twelve. Bein's I'm us'ally in 
 bed by eight, I grinned at the ol' clock, an', says I : 
 ' 'Snever too late to mend,' an' I allus thought that 
 ol' clock grinned back." 
 
 " Ezry, ye're a case, a reg'lar case," remarked 
 the caller, " but tell me the news. Is Lem 
 Moody's darter married, her that had the red hair, 
 an' a temper ter match? " 
 
 " Lor', yes! She's been married goin' on six 
 year." 
 
 " Wai, ef she is married, I know she done the
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 287 
 
 marryin'. No feller 'd hev the courage ter marry 
 her, so I'll ask ye who'd she marry? " 
 
 ' The miller's son, Tim, an' a good smart pair 
 they make. When she gits inter a fust-class 
 tantrum, he cuts fer the mill, an' grinds the meal, 
 leavin' her ter grind her teeth ef she wants ter. 
 Leastways, when the mill's goin' he couldn't hear 
 her talk ef she follered him, so she stays ter home, 
 an' they hev peace 'til the next storm. She's got 
 her good points. She's a master hand at house- 
 work." 
 
 Zeke Wilmot clasped his hands around one 
 knee, and leaning against the broad back of the 
 garden seat, surveyed Ezra with marked approval. 
 
 " Ezry, ye're the same Ezry Wiley that I used 
 ter know, a keepin' up yer habit er tellin' the good 
 pints in the folks ye know, even when their virtoos 
 is so small that ye actooally hev ter squint ter 
 see 'em." 
 
 " Wai, Zeke, I hold that the meanest pusson 
 that ever lived has good in him somewhere, an' 
 I'd 'nough sight rather look fer it, than go huntin' 
 'round fer flaws. I don't take no delight in flaws. 
 I've no use fer 'em." 
 
 For a time the two old friends sat talking of 
 those whom both had known. Ezra, believing 
 that he had told all the important news, was tax-
 
 288 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ing his memory with the hope of recalling at least 
 one more item, when a sound, as of a pick strik- 
 ing the ground, broke the stillness. Ezra knew 
 well whence it came, but his friend was startled. 
 
 " Ain't makin' a county road through yer 
 property, be they?" he asked. 
 
 " Lan' sake, no ! " Ezra answered cheerily. 
 " That's old' What-ye-call-him that thinks he's a 
 prophet, though which prophet I hain't never been 
 able ter find out. He b'lieves he's one er them 
 fellers that used ter prophesy, but sometimes he's 
 one on 'em, an' sometimes 'nother, but lately he's 
 sort o' techy, fer when I asked him which prophet 
 he was, he got riled, an' told me 'twan't no affair 
 o' mine, so I let him 'lone, now, mostly. Yest'day 
 he started ter dig fer gold back er the house, an' 
 as he don't dig a great while in any one place, I 
 jest let him dig." 
 
 " Oh, I remember him when I was in this neigh- 
 borhood. He proph'sied that Jehiel Flanders 
 would lose his money ef he bet at the hoss race, 
 an' said he'd go ter perdition, too. When Jehiel 
 bet on the sorrel mare, won a hundred dollars, put 
 that inter a dinky little piece er land, an' sold that 
 land fer a hundred an' fifty, done all that in three 
 weeks, the prophet was mad. Jehiel had knocked 
 his prophesyin' higher'n a kite."
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 289 
 
 " An' Jehiel stayed in Blossomville 'stead er 
 goin' ter perdition," Ezra said, with a chuckle. 
 
 " I seen a feller at the deepot that thinks them 
 two places is the same," Zeke said slyly. 
 
 " Oh, that's no way ter speak er Blossomville," 
 Ezry said. 
 
 " The feller I spoke of seemed ter think 'twas 
 perdition that suffered from the comparison," 
 Zeke responded. 
 
 Ezra appeared not to have noticed the last re- 
 mark. 
 
 " It's a bit chilly out here now," he said. 
 " The sun has shifted, an' I don't hear no racket 
 from the house, so I guess Temp'rance has fin- 
 ished cleanin'. Come up ter the house an' stay a 
 spell. These fall days it seems good ter sit near 
 the fireplace, an' watch the blazin' er the logs 
 while we talk." 
 
 The two old friends noticed, as they neared 
 the house, that the sound of the pick-axe had 
 ceased. 
 
 " Sometimes he gits down inter the hole he's 
 dug, an' commoons with hisself, er that's what 
 he calls it, but it maybe he's gone off ter dig some- 
 where else. They's no tellin'," Ezra said, as they 
 were entering the house. Evidently he was not 
 curious as to which course the prophet had taken.
 
 290 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 At " The Three Birches " the evidence that 
 winter was approaching was to be seen at every 
 point. The lower story of the old house was now 
 visible from the road. For the first time since 
 Sylvia, closely followed by Aunt Zilla, had left 
 the coach and opened the little gate, both en- 
 trances stood revealed. 
 
 The trumpet vine and the rambler rose still en- 
 circled the pillars and crept across the roof of the 
 porch, but both were leafless now, only their 
 sturdy stems remaining, like loyal friends whose 
 outward appearance is shabby, but whose hearts 
 are true. All through the summer months they 
 had faithfully hidden the weather-beaten pillars, 
 and the moss-covered shingles of the porch roof, 
 that now the sunlight ruthlessly displayed. The 
 woodbine at the side entrance had turned scarlet, 
 its bloom-covered berries had been abundant, but 
 both berries and leaves now lay upon the path, a 
 sodden mass. 
 
 The garden flowers had vanished, only their 
 dryed stalks remaining, erect, like little sentries 
 each side the path, whom one must pass, before 
 entering the house. The blossoms that in sum- 
 mer had peeped through the fence were gone, 
 the shrubs were bare, and the broken palings were 
 now in evidence save where, outside the garden,
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 291 
 
 the fall asters had blossomed, gone to seed, and 
 now like ghost flowers, white and silvery, seemed 
 trying to hide the widened openings in the fence. 
 
 The great trees towering above the chimneys 
 made a dismal background for the old house, 
 whose hipped roof was as moss-grown as the 
 porch roof below. A single dormer window, the 
 glass lunette shaped like a huge staring eye, 
 looked down from the roof, as if in wonderment, 
 at the wreck of the garden's beauty. 
 
 The clump of birches, for which the place had 
 been named, stood out boldly, now that the 
 althea and locust trees were leafless. In the sum- 
 mer, they had seemed to be sheltering the birches, 
 that now, white and slender, stood boldly forth, 
 as if proclaiming their importance. 
 
 " Are we not worthy specimens? It is from us 
 that the old place took its name," they seemed 
 to say. 
 
 Two figures were now advancing, one on the 
 forest-road, the other on the road from the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 The one on the forest-road was accompanied 
 by a dog, who kept close beside the graceful 
 figure, often lifting his head to look eagerly up 
 into the face of the girl whom he loved. A large 
 hat with a single drooping plume shadowed dark
 
 292 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 eyes that looked down sadly at the dog. The 
 leash with which she held him was quite un- 
 necessary as a rule, but once or twice he had been 
 tempted, and yielding, had raced off through the 
 woods, returning home after some hours' absence, 
 looking ashamed of his truancy. 
 
 " Only you to tramp with, Laddie, and you 
 can't even call my name," Sylvia said. 
 
 As if he scented a reproach, Laddie sidled 
 closer. She removed the leash, and with her 
 hand on his collar, walked slowly toward the 
 house. 
 
 " I'm lonely, Laddie," she said, " and there's 
 not a soul, save myself, whom I can blame for 
 that. I came here of my own volition no one 
 sent me; but Laddie, I came here for Jack, just 
 for Jack. How could I go to him, empty-handed, 
 to be just what Aunt Daphne said : ' A dead 
 weight, instead of a helpmeet'?" 
 
 The dog whined as if to imply that he under- 
 stood. 
 
 " But, Laddie," she continued, " each day it be- 
 comes harder to bear, and the winter will seem 
 endless. It is November now. How can I wait 
 until the first of June ? I can call Jack to me along 
 the last of May, that is, I can if " She paused. 
 
 Irma's gossip, uniting Jack's name with that of
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 293 
 
 Fannie Ardmore came back clearly to her, and 
 while she could not believe that Fannie's shallow 
 nature would in any way appeal to Jack, she could 
 not forget, nor could she think Irma's chatter 
 wholly idle. 
 
 That which now troubled Sylvia was the fact 
 that a letter written to Jack had received no re- 
 ply. It was now nearly three weeks since she 
 had mailed it. 
 
 She had been haunted with what Irma had told 
 her, and at last, feeling that she must have a com- 
 forting word from him, had written. She had 
 told herself that she was doing an unwise thing. 
 It was just the sort of letter that would bring Jack 
 to her; and, if he came, he would renew his plead- 
 ing. 
 
 Well, even that would be better than turning 
 Irma's miserable gossip over and over until heart 
 and mind were weary. She was tired, the life at 
 the old house was even worse than she had ex- 
 pected, and if Jack should come, Why, Jack 
 would plead, and she ? Ah, surely she would have 
 sufficient strength to resist his appealing, and to 
 hold fast to her vow to remain, and claim the 
 property. At all costs, she must see Jack, She 
 believed that she could not longer endure his ab- 
 sence.
 
 294 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Three weeks had passed, and no reply to her 
 letter had reached her. No sound from Jack! 
 Why? What did the silence mean? 
 
 She had gone for a walk, taking Laddie with 
 her, but as she returned, and pushed wide the lit- 
 tle gate, she felt that she had left none of her 
 anxiety behind her. Rather the load seemed 
 heavier, as she laid her long cloak on a chair in 
 the hall, and tossed her hat upon it. Sounds from 
 the kitchen told that Aunt Zilla was busy there. 
 Sylvia turned toward the living-room, Laddie 
 closely following. 
 
 She entered and softly closed the door. Evi- 
 dently Aunt Zilla did not know that she had re- 
 turned. It seemed to Sylvia that she must sit and 
 rest for a while, before being obliged to talk. 
 What was there to talk of that could hold her 
 attention? Surely, matters of local importance 
 interested her not at all. 
 
 Aunt Zilla appeared to have caught the gossipy 
 spirit of Blossomville, and on her way to and from 
 the store, managed to acquire bits of news regard- 
 ing the Wiley household, the two Dale sisters, 
 Jim Jimson, and a few others, and with these, and 
 her own opinion regarding them, she endeavored 
 to entertain Sylvia. 
 
 She experienced keen disappointment when her
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 295 
 
 listener seemed not to care greatly that Dorcas 
 Dale had taken a prize for the best design in 
 " drawed in " rugs at the County fair, that Ezry 
 Wiley was putting an ell onto the rear of his 
 house, or that Jim Jimson was driving a new 
 span, and that the new nags were " skinnier " than 
 the ones that he had been driving. 
 
 Aunt Zilla did not expect greatly to interest. 
 She was merely making a kindly effort to turn 
 Sylvia's attention, for she realized that the girl 
 was worrying. She knew nothing of the letter 
 that had been mailed, and for which Sylvia was 
 anxiously awaiting a reply. 
 
 Laddie watched her as closely as did Aunt Zilla, 
 and with this difference. Aunt Zilla watched 
 cautiously, the dog with a steady stare. Now, as 
 he lay at Sylvia's feet, he looked up at her and 
 whined for a word or caress. He thought she 
 had too long been silent. 
 
 And while the girl sat before the fire dreaming, 
 her hand upon the dog's fine head, the figure that 
 had appeared on that other road was shambling 
 toward the house. 
 
 He had paused often upon the way, and now 
 stood staring about him, as if doubtful what his 
 next move should be. He glanced backward over 
 the road that he had traversed, then looked
 
 296 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 forward at the dusty thoroughfare ahead of 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly, although a cold wind was rising, he 
 removed his coat, tested the pickets of the fence, 
 appeared satisfied that they were fairly depend- 
 able, and hung his coat upon one that seemed ca- 
 pable of holding it. Next, off came his hat, then 
 his collar, then his shoes. One might have 
 thought that he was preparing for bed. The ris- 
 ing wind set the old sign swinging. Its creaking 
 startled Sylvia as she sat thinking, and the man 
 near the gate shook his clenched fist at it. 
 
 ; ' Woe unter ye ! " he said, but the old sign con- 
 tinued to swing and creak, and after another ges- 
 ture, as threatening as the first, he apparently de- 
 cided to let it creak, since he evidently could not 
 stop it. 
 
 And now another coat was removed, and yet 
 another, each a bit shabbier than the one pre- 
 viously hung upon the fence. Although his gar- 
 ments were threadbare, he was in a sense in " full 
 dress " in that he evidently wore his entire ward- 
 robe at one time. Each coat was hung upon a 
 separate paling, and when three rusty vests pro- 
 longed the line, he seemed satisfied; no, not quite, 
 for now he was fumbling in the pockets of the 
 coats. That which he sought proved to be a care-
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 297 
 
 fully folded parcel, which, when he opened, and 
 shook it out proved to be a three-yard length of 
 flowered calico which he tenderly spread across 
 the entire length of hanging garments. Stoop- 
 ing, he grasped a pick that lay upon the ground, 
 and then commenced to work with a will. 
 
 At the even blows upon the hard earth Sylvia 
 started. 
 
 " What a place this is for strange sounds ! 
 Sometimes a rattling blind, or loose clapboard, 
 always that creaking sign, and now and again 
 groans that seem to emanate from nowhere, yet 
 are all about us," she said, covering her ears with 
 her hands as if to shut out this latest din. 
 
 It was useless. The slender hands could not 
 render her deaf to the persistent pounding, or, 
 thumping, whichever it might be, and it sounded 
 as if the toiler were just outside the door. She 
 rose and crossed the room. There was no one 
 visible on the path or in the garden. 
 
 It happened that the prophet had been seized 
 with a spasm of pious fervor, and at that moment 
 was on his knees muttering incoherently. The 
 long line of shabby garments upon the fence con- 
 cealed him, but the gayly flowered calico was a 
 key to their possessor's identity. Suddenly an un- 
 kempt head bobbed above the fence, then the
 
 298 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 sturdy arms commenced to wield the pick. Sylvia, 
 worried by Jack's silence, startled by strange 
 sounds, felt this latest annoyance to be the pro- 
 verbial " last straw." 
 
 " He must stop it! " she cried, " I can not have 
 him haunting the place ! " and she flew to the door. 
 
 It was not the Sylvia Durant who carried her- 
 self so proudly, nor was it the Sylvia who had hid- 
 den her tear-filled eyes while she listened to Aunt 
 Phyllis' gentle voice, and was calmed by her sweet 
 sympathy. It seemed to be a new Sylvia, who had 
 suffered keenly, and now had reached a point 
 where even a slight annoyance could not be en- 
 dured in silence. Her eyes were bright, her 
 cheeks burning as she struggled with the rusty 
 bolt. It had not occurred to her that she did not 
 know his name, nor had the thought entered her 
 tired head that he was not sure to meekly go 
 away, because she ordered him to do so. 
 
 What was wrong with that bolt, that it could 
 not be moved in its socket? She threw her weight 
 against the door, and with a final effort, the bolt 
 shot back, and the door opened. Opened just in 
 time to show another remonstrant already in the 
 field. It was Aunt Zilla, who, with a shawl over 
 her head, and an umbrella uplifted, was rushing 
 along the path toward the gate.
 
 AT BLOSSOMVILLE 299 
 
 " Here, you ! " she shouted. " Git away from 
 there ! Go 'long, will ye ? Git, I say 1 " 
 
 " Ma'am? " said the prophet, as if he had not 
 grasped the meaning of her excitement. 
 
 "I say git out! Go 'long! Don't ye know 
 what I say, ye queer critter?" 
 
 ''Ma'am?" 
 
 His eyes were void of expression. 
 
 Aunt Zilla dropped the umbrella, and the two, 
 equally astonished, stood staring at each other. 
 
 ' What are ye doin' there? " she asked, and he 
 stared for a moment, then: " Diggin' fer gold," 
 he said. 
 
 " Ef ye're a prophet, ye ought ter be too pious 
 ter want gold," was Aunt Zilla's reply, to which 
 he responded: 
 
 ' Too pious ter want gold? There ain't no 
 such pussons." 
 
 " Wai, I declare ! Ye've sense 'nough ter know 
 that, but I tell ye ter go dig somewhere else. 
 D'ye hear?" 
 
 " Ma'am, yer lucky ter hev a prophet at yer 
 door. 'Tain't every one I prophesy fer." 
 
 " Wai, all the same, I won't hev ye proph'syin' 
 'round here! Quit now! I tell ye. Quit!" 
 cried Aunt Zilla. 
 
 He turned quickly, grasped the length of calico
 
 300 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 and wrapping it about him, commenced, in a sing- 
 song manner, to chant: " I'm a blessin' at yer 
 gates, but ye don't gi'me honor ! The time 
 is drawin' nigh when flames will envellup yer 
 abode, an' like chaff 'afore the wind, ye'll go up 
 in smoke, an' the fire er my wrath, " 
 
 " Clear out, 'n' take yer wrath with ye ! We've 
 had 'nough er yer ridic'lous notions. Ye're the 
 fust prophet I ever heared of as was draped in 
 caliker. Take yer clothes off'n the fence, an' git 
 away. Ye can't go too fur. Say! Be ye goin' 
 any time ter day, cause if ye can't start 'thout help 
 Laddie'll be glad ter assist ye." 
 
 At the sound of his name, Laddie, who had 
 been curious as to what it was all about, squeezed 
 through the partly open door, and with joyous 
 barking, joined that other valiant protector of 
 the house. 
 
 At sight of the dog, the prophet gained celerity 
 in his movements. Laddie was too gentle to harm 
 any one, but his sudden appearance had worked a 
 miracle, for the prophet, hitherto slow-motioned, 
 went sprinting down the road at great speed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 VOICES 
 
 TREES, gaunt and leafless, swaying against 
 a leaden sky, a lonely road, stretching far 
 away to where an old bridge broke its 
 monotonous line, deep furrows in the road made 
 by heavy cart-wheels, that was what Sylvia saw 
 as she stood looking from the window in late after- 
 noon. 
 
 The bleak outlook was in keeping with her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Eight months had passed, dull, weary months, 
 unbroken in their dreariness save when Luke El- 
 more, unwelcome but persistent, paused in passing, 
 one idle errand or another giving a meager excuse 
 for his call. At one time he would profess a 
 neighborly interest in their welfare; at another he 
 would inquire for Aunt Zilla's health, thus win- 
 ning favor with her, and causing her to wonder 
 at Sylvia's lack of interest in so genial a neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 Sometimes he boldly asked for her, when, if 
 301
 
 302 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 luck so favored her that she happened not to be 
 in sight, she left Aunt Zilla to make any excuse 
 that she chose, and escaped to her room, where 
 she remained until she heard the front door close, 
 and a moment later was informed that he had de- 
 parted. 
 
 Still standing at her chamber window, she 
 looked eastward, along the lonely road. 
 
 She knew that the sunset must be glowing, 
 for far up on a distant hillside were windows all 
 aflame. Like emblems of hope, they gleamed far 
 above the little village. 
 
 How far away were those bright windows! 
 Was that for which she so earnestly longed as 
 bright as those flashing windows, and seemingly 
 as distant? 
 
 As if in answer to the questioning thought, she 
 became aware of something brightly shining, 
 something nearer, and upon looking down saw 
 that the thin ice filling the long wagon-ruts had 
 caught the glimmering light. 
 
 Months had passed, and still her letter lay in 
 the unlocked drawer in Jack Stanwood's desk, 
 where it would remain until his return. It lay 
 far back in the drawer, covered by many letters 
 and papers that had collected.
 
 VOICES 303 
 
 " It may be that a letter from him will come 
 to-morrow," she said, just as she had told herself 
 countless times before. ;< It is hard for him, and 
 for me, but surely a letter must soon be on its 
 way." 
 
 How still it was. The wind that had been 
 blowing all the afternoon had lulled with the 
 waning day, and peace seemed to have settled 
 over the village. 
 
 " Eight months," she murmured. " One would 
 say that the four remaining months that I must 
 spend here might seem but a brief stay in com- 
 parison, but the days drag with leaden feet, and 
 I have worried over my letter to Jack that still is 
 unanswered until I am wretched. Can it be that 
 he went from here so angry that he will not reply 
 or could Irma's story be true? In that case, it 
 was simply lack of interest that caused him to 
 ignore the letter." A dozen times Sylvia had been 
 tempted to write again on the assumption that the 
 first letter had never reached him, but pride re- 
 strained her. 
 
 She was turning from the window when a sound 
 of hoof-beats on the little bridge rang out on the 
 stillness. Yes, there was the horse and rider com- 
 ing toward " The Three Birches." He drew rein
 
 304 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 at the gate and, dismounting, led the horse into the 
 garden, closed the gate behind him and then 
 walked up the path to the door. 
 
 Sylvia flung herself upon the bed, hiding her 
 face on her folded arms. 
 
 The bright color had gone from the sky, and 
 all objects were veiled in the monotone of twi- 
 light. At the first sound of hoof-beats a wild 
 hope that a message had come from Jack had sent 
 the color to her cricks. Then, the thought that 
 the message might tell that he was ill had blanched 
 her lips. It had not occurred to her that the bold 
 rider was Elmore. 
 
 As he strode up the path, his identity was dis- 
 closed and rebellion filled her heart. It made the 
 enforced separation from Jack the harder to bear 
 that this man whom she detested was forever ap- 
 pearing at her door. 
 
 "Sylvia!" 
 
 The girl did not answer, nor did she lift her 
 head from her folded arms. Again Aunt Zilla 
 called. Sylvia did not stir. She heard Aunt Zilla 
 return along the hall to the parlor. 
 
 " She's been feelin' tired. Maybe she's layin' 
 down," she said. 
 
 As if he had heard the excuse, and was anxious 
 for her welfare, Laddie came softly up-stairs, and,
 
 VOICES 305 
 
 across the room to where she lay. She had 
 dropped an arm over the bedside, and into her 
 hand he thrust his cold muzzle. 
 
 ' You're a comfort, Laddie," she whispered, 
 and the dog felt that he had done the right thing. 
 Aunt Zilla tried her best to be entertaining, but 
 Luke Elmore, half suspecting that Sylvia might 
 have come down to the living-room if she would, 
 made a brief call, and mounting his horse, rode 
 off up the road, displeased, but none the less de- 
 termined. 
 
 It was not long before the village was agog at 
 the improvements on the Elmore place. 
 
 " He's building great piazzas! " said one. 
 
 " There's a bay-winder on the side next the 
 dinin'-room," said another. 
 
 " He's puttin' a ell onter the hind part er the 
 house," declared a third. 
 
 " He's paintin' the place, inside an' out, an' I 
 says ter him, says I; ' Coin' ter git married when 
 the repairs is did?' an' says he: 'Shouldn't 
 wonder.' ' 
 
 " S'pose it's goin' ter be Miss Durant? I 
 didn't dare ter ax him," said one old fellow. 
 
 ' Then fer massy sakes don't ask me," his 
 neighbor responded, " fer ef Luke himself ain't 
 sure 'bout it, how'd I know? "
 
 306 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Oh, he knows, but he ain't tellin'," his friend 
 remarked wisely. 
 
 The greater number of the inhabitants believed 
 that Luke Elmore was the accepted suitor at " The 
 Three Birches." " Ain't Luke the biggest tax- 
 payer in Blossomville? " "Ain't Luke's house 
 'nough sight finer than that ol' place where she 
 hangs aout now? " These were the questions that 
 they asked among themselves, invariably winding 
 up with : " An' wouldn't any gal in this 'ere place 
 jump at the chance? " 
 
 These whisperings did not reach Sylvia. 
 
 During the winter months she had restricted her 
 walks to the wood-road, rather than the road that 
 was traversed by every one whose objective point 
 was the store. Thus she avoided the gossips. 
 
 The " voices " of the place were rarely silent, 
 however, and there was another theme that never 
 failed to interest, and that was " The Three 
 Birches." 
 
 When the superstitious tales regarding it had 
 been retold, old Mrs. Durant's peculiarities de- 
 scribed, Aunt Zilla and Sylvia spoken of, and the 
 " noises " that were said to emanate from there 
 imitated, then indeed was the time for some one 
 to mention the locked room, and tongues would 
 wag harder than before. Men, women, and chil-
 
 VOICES 307 
 
 dren talked of that room, and one day Dorcas 
 Dale mentioned it to Ezry Wiley. 
 
 " Me'n' my sister is jest wild ter know what's 
 hid in it! " she said, and with a laugh Ezry re- 
 sponded : 
 
 " S'pos'n when they do open it, tain't hidin' 
 nothin' 'tall, then what'll ye say?" 
 
 " I'll say 'twas meant ter tant'fize us fer 
 nothin' ! " cried Dorcas. 
 
 ' The idee! A lockin', an' boltin' an' nailin' 
 up a room full o' nothin' tall! But 'tain't so, 
 Ezry, I know 'tain't. Ye can't make me b'lieve 
 that a woman, as sens'ble as old Mis' Durant, 
 went an' had that room so ev'lastin' secure ef there 
 wa'n't a reason fer it, an' the hull o' Blossomville 
 is wild with cur'osty ter know what's hid there." 
 
 ' Wild, be ye? " Ezry said, with a twinkle in 
 his eye. 
 
 ' Well, I guess ye'll hev time ter git tame 'fore 
 ye find out. Miss Sylvia hain't disturbed it yet." 
 
 ' Wai, beats me how she stands it. That shet 
 door would gim me fits! " flashed Dorcas. 
 
 ' You 'n' her is some different," Ezra said, 
 dryly, and Dorcas departed, in a huff. 
 
 It was provoking that an attempt to arouse 
 Ezra's curiosity was always wasted effort. 
 
 The closed door had annoyed Sylvia from the
 
 3 o8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 first. If it had simply been locked, she would 
 have at once opened it to learn if aught of value 
 lay there. That it was not only locked and bolted, 
 but also nailed, seemed strange, and daily her 
 dread to look within increased, until she now dis- 
 liked even to pass the door. Once during a storm 
 she was walking along the hall, Laddie at her 
 heels, when, as they neared the closed door, a 
 strange sound seemed to come from the room be- 
 hind it. 
 
 " That noise must have been caused by some- 
 thing outside," she whispered, but even as she 
 spoke it was repeated, and Laddie, putting his 
 nose close to the sill, sniffed a second and then re- 
 treated, uttering a low growl. His tail was be- 
 tween his legs, his hair erect upon his spine, and as 
 he edged away, he kept an eye upon the door as 
 if fearing that it might open. 
 
 This was the third time that Sylvia had felt that 
 she had reached the limit of endurance ; yet, as on 
 the two previous occasions, she had schooled her- 
 self to remain. 
 
 Of the strange sound and of the dog's actions 
 she said nothing to Aunt Zilla. That good 
 woman was surely as nervous as it was well for 
 her to be without the aid of a weird story to in- 
 crease her terror.
 
 VOICES 309 
 
 " If only I can have strength to hold out 'til 
 the day when I can leave this terrible old house, 
 never to return!" Sylvia said each night that 
 marked one more day completed.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 FOUR MONTHS' ABSENCE 
 
 IN desperate need of a change, Stanwood had 
 agreed to take the business trip that for 
 months would keep him away from the 
 office. It seemed a means of escape from 
 scrutiny. He could not be himself. Day after 
 day, as if from force of habit, he did the work 
 that lay before him, but he knew that his manner 
 was changed, and he believed that already his un- 
 usual reserve had been noticed, perhaps had been 
 subject of comment among those about him. 
 
 In the months that followed his departure, his 
 loneliness increased. During business hours it 
 was surely better than at the office. Those with 
 whom he had dealings were strangers who could 
 not know what a buoyant happy spirit had been 
 his, and thus could make no comparison. When 
 evening came, however, it brought with it a sense 
 of desolation that would not down. 
 
 He missed Donald Trefton. 
 
 " And yet Trefton had taken to watching me, 
 310
 
 FOUR MONTHS' ABSENCE 311 
 
 confound him ! " growled Jack. One especially 
 wretched evening, he betook himself to a popular 
 theater, and endured the play until, in the last 
 act, the hero and heroine were reunited, when he 
 snatched his hat and rushed from the auditorium, 
 followed by curious eyes. 
 
 " Always comes out right in a play ! " he mut- 
 tered, adding: " I was a fool to go!" 
 
 The trip was a success, from a business stand- 
 point, and that was what old Marcus Stanwood 
 wanted. 
 
 That deal had meant everything to him, 
 and Jack had turned it. He had exceeded the 
 old banker's wildest dream. To have accom- 
 plished greater results than Marcus Stanwood de- 
 manded was indeed a miracle, and at any other 
 time Jack would have been flushed with his suc- 
 cess. Now, without Sylvia to tell it to, it seemed 
 an empty thing, and upon his return, he received 
 his uncle's commendation with courtesy, but with- 
 out apparent interest. 
 
 ' Your salary will again be increased, Jack, 
 commencing this month, not for any foolish af- 
 fection upon my part, but because you've proved 
 yourself valuable to me. Good morning. I'm 
 busy," the older man concluded, and turned to the 
 mail that littered his desk.
 
 312 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Thus abruptly dismissed, Jack left the private 
 office and went to his own desk. 
 
 There had been times during his absence when 
 he had blamed himself for not asking Sylvia if 
 that which Irma had told were true. 
 
 He had asked himself why he had believed it 
 implicitly, but always, as if in answer, the thought 
 had come to him: 
 
 " But Sylvia had refused to listen to my plead- 
 ing, seeming to prefer that desolate, lonely house 
 to a home with me ! Strange that Sylvia, my 
 Sylvia, should prove to be so grasping that that 
 old rookery and possibly a few hundred dollars 
 could keep her apart from me for a year and a 
 day!" 
 
 Then: "It can't be! She never was grasp- 
 ing. That was but a thin excuse to keep me, for 
 a time, ignorant of her regard for one whom she 
 had met there in that little village. She believed 
 that it would be a long time before I could ' make 
 good,' and that man held his fortune already in 
 his grasp." 
 
 Irma had even seen the house. She, a stranger 
 in the place, never would have found it. It was 
 only too evident that Sylvia, in her new-found 
 happiness, had shown it to her. 
 
 And yet, as he opened the drawer, and took
 
 FOUR MONTHS' ABSENCE 313 
 
 from it the mass of mail matter that had collected, 
 he knew that in his heart was a hope, faint, yet 
 surely burning, that somewhere in the pile would 
 be an envelope with the address in the dear, fa- 
 miliar hand. 
 
 Much advertising matter, countless invitations 
 to social functions, a few personal letters of no 
 especial interest, these were what he found. He 
 tried to tell himself that he had expected nothing, 
 had hoped for nothing, but he could not deceive 
 himself. 
 
 He had hoped; ay, he had hoped against hope ! 
 
 Why had fate, with devilish cunning, arranged 
 that papers and envelopes, thrust hastily into that 
 drawer, should have crowded Sylvia's letter; the 
 second, more deeply appealing than the first, over 
 the edge of the drawer, and down behind, where, 
 covered with dust, they lay, longed for, yet undis- 
 covered?
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 
 
 THE inhabitants of small villages are enor- 
 mously interested in the affairs of their 
 neighbors, and the residents of Blossom- 
 ville were no exception to the rule. Many of the 
 villagers were far from reticent, and their strong- 
 est interest invariably centered around any wight 
 who chose to keep at least a part of his business to 
 himself. 
 
 Like ferrets they worked, until they had 
 obtained facts which he least wished them to 
 know. 
 
 With these items as a nucleus, the busybodies, 
 by adding here a bit and there a bit, could manu- 
 facture quite a tale, until the first relater of the 
 story would never have recognized it, as told by 
 the last. 
 
 When " chores " were done, and time dragged 
 heavily, the " store " was an ideal market-place 
 where a stock of news could be unloaded, with the 
 assurance that its distribution would be immediate. 
 
 314
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 315 
 
 " First come, first served," was the invariable 
 rule, so that any one in need of a new topic for 
 discussion rushed to the store, and rarely did it 
 fail him. 
 
 " Most allus somethin'*in the wind," remarked 
 Nat Gates, concluding brilliantly, " 'n' 'f there 
 ain't, there's somethin' else!" 
 
 " This 's been a awful dull day," remarked Nat 
 one afternoon. " Been tremenjous dull, I do 
 vum it has ! " 
 
 He was alone in the store, and the silence irri- 
 tated him. 
 
 " I've actooally begun ter talk ter myself, all 
 because o' nobody comin' in." 
 
 He felt himself ill-used. 
 
 " Only had two critters in ter trade with an' 
 fine cust'mers they was!" he growled. "One 
 on 'em asked fer a ounce o' caraway seed, 'n' when 
 I'd jest got it keerfully weighed, he said : * Guess 
 ye better make it a half a ounce. That'll be 
 plenty.' * Mebbe even that'll be a overdose,' says 
 I, but Lor' ! He didn't ketch my meanin'. 
 ' 'Tain't fer a dose,' says he. ' My oF woman 
 wants 'em fer cookies.' 
 
 ' T'other critter was a woman what lives on 
 the far side o' Blossomville. I fergit her name, 
 but she's so ev'lastin' tall an' skinny I remember
 
 3 i6 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 her. She come prancin' in, an' she screeched: 
 ' Hev ye some fus'-class m'lasses? ' ' I hev,' says 
 I. 'Which kind d'ye want? New Orleens, or 
 Porto Rica?' 'New 'leens!' she said, tart-like. 
 ' Lemme taste it? ' ' Sure,' says I, 'n' I took V 
 dipped a skewer inter the bar'l, an' let her take a 
 lick. 
 
 " She tasted it, smacked her lips, 'n' looked sort 
 o' wise. ' Want a pint, quart, or a gallon in a 
 jug? I jest filled that there stone jug 'bout five 
 minutes ago.' ' Don't want none 'tall,' she said, 
 lookin' clean through me. ' I'm jest here ter set- 
 tle a bet. My neighbor, Mis' Winton, she that 
 was Abigail Scroggs, told me I'd orter use New 
 'leens, 'cause it was so much nicer than Port' 
 Rica, an' she said one taste would convince me, 
 an' 't has. 'Tain't no better, an' knew 'twouldn't 
 be; ' an' off she went. Could ye beat that? " 
 
 " Beat what? " came an answering voice, and 
 Nat's gloom vanished as a wiry figure entered. 
 Josh Lumley had a budget of news to deliver, and 
 Nat forgot to grumble as he sat listening to the 
 various items that Josh had collected. Josh Lum- 
 ley occupied his days in gathering news, and be- 
 rating Fate. He habitually characterized him- 
 self as unlucky, but what effort had he ever made 
 to lure Fortune to his side, or win her smile?
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 317 
 
 Who would have blamed her had she laughed in 
 derision? 
 
 With his chair tilted against the wall, he now 
 sat opposite Nat, reeling off the news that he had 
 come to tell. The items were of little interest to 
 any save those who were acquainted with the per- 
 sons described, and even Nat, who knew them all, 
 was becoming rather bored, when sounds sugges- 
 tive of excitement brought both men to their feet, 
 and they made a rush for the door. 
 
 A comical scene was being enacted, and it surely 
 was an " all-star cast." That which the village 
 called its " Square," was, in reality, a triangle. 
 
 Now, as its central ornament, upon an inverted 
 soap box for a pedestal, posed the " prophet," 
 and, judging from his attitude, and gestures, a fit 
 of religious fervor had seized him with extreme 
 violence. 
 
 Advancing rapidly was an angular figure, one 
 hand firmly grasping an umbrella, the other hold- 
 ing an excited dog by the leash. It was Mrs. 
 Drusilla Bond and Laddie. 
 
 "Woman, ye daren't come no farther!" 
 shouted the prophet, at the same time pointing a 
 grimy finger toward her. 
 
 14 What are ye thinkin' of? " cried Aunt Zilla. 
 " Ye don't own the Square ! "
 
 3 i8 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 "Wow!" remarked Laddie, tugging at the 
 leash. 
 
 " Hail-stones '11 hit ye ! Clouds er smoke '11 en- 
 wellop ye ! Flames '11 ketch yer raiment, an' ye'll 
 be ev'lastin'ly scorched! The airth'll open ter 
 swaller ye, an' the " 
 
 A saucy breeze blew his red calico mantle over 
 his head, shutting off his stream of prophecy for a 
 moment. Angrily he swept it aside. 
 
 " Sodom an' Gomor " 
 
 " Oh, be still, ye ol' nuisance! " Aunt Zilla ex- 
 claimed. " A body can't go nowheres 'thout 
 seein' ye, an' hearin' ye a-spoutin' ! Hi, Laddie ! 
 Stay with me, that's a good dog." 
 
 But Laddie saw no charm in being good. 
 
 His low and persistent growl was varied by 
 sharp, angry barks. He detested the prophet, 
 and while he had not the least idea of harming 
 him, he longed to rush at him for the sheer fun of 
 scaring him. 
 
 Once he had done that, and what joy it had been 
 to chase the fleeing prophet! 
 
 He tugged desperately at the leash. 
 
 " The airth will open ter swaller yc, the crack 
 o' doom shall " 
 
 The leash slipped from Aunt Zilla's grasp, and 
 the prophet tore along the road, his riotously gay
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 319 
 
 mantle floating behind him, Laddie, occasionally 
 varying his course by springing upward in a wild 
 attempt to snatch the fluttering calico. 
 
 " Case o' prophet an' loss, ain't it? " Nat Gates 
 said, with a laugh at his own joke. " Th' ol' 
 feller's a prophet, or he thinks he is, an' I guess 
 ye lost yer dog, leastways, fer a spell." 
 
 "I declare, I've forgot what I come fer!" 
 Aunt Zilla said, leaning on her umbrella, and look- 
 ing down at her shoe, as she endeavored to recall 
 the errand that had sent her forth. 
 
 " Dear, dear! I wish Laddie'd come back! " 
 she said, looking anxiously down the road. 
 
 " Wonder how fur he'll chase the ol' feller 'fore 
 he remembers ye're a-waitin' fer him?" Josh 
 Lumley remarked. 
 
 Thrusting two fingers into his mouth he gave 
 an ear-splitting whistle. They looked down the 
 road but no Laddie was in sight. 
 
 " Come in, Mis' Bond," said Nat. 
 
 " Ye may's well wait inside where it's warm as 
 out here. The dog'll show up after a spell, an' 
 whilst ye're in the store, ye kin sort'er gaze 'round 
 an' see 'f ye see what 'twas ye wanted. That's 
 a good way ter rec'lect yer errand." 
 
 The sky was overcast, and there was dampness 
 in the air that made the suggestion of warmth
 
 320 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 agreeable, and Aunt Zilla entered the little store, 
 and, as Nat had suggested, " gazed 'round," but 
 nothing that she saw suggested her errand. 
 
 " 'Sno use," she said, finally, " I don't see any- 
 thing that I ever wanted, so there's nothin' fer 't 
 but ter go home, an' see what 'twas I started out 
 fer, an' come back ter-morrer, 'n' git it. I do 
 declare, I wish the ol' prophesyin' feller had been 
 further, fer 'twas jest his ' whoopin' it up ' that 
 made me fergit my errand." 
 
 A tiny stream ran through Blossomville, a nar- 
 row stream that in an undulating line wriggled its 
 way across the meadows through level, sunlit 
 fields and woodland ways. A mischievous little 
 stream it was, for after boldly flashing in the sun- 
 light, it crept along under overhanging alders, 
 laughing, and gurgling because for the moment 
 unseen; then, as if in exultation, it would leap for- 
 ward, bounding over the stones that appeared near 
 the surface, churning its waters into foam that 
 floated away under the ferns and brakes that lined 
 its borders. 
 
 When winter came its every curve lay revealed, 
 for the ferns were gone, and the alders leafless. 
 One hiding place remained, and that was the little 
 bridge, shabby and weather-beaten. All through
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 321 
 
 the cold weather the brook had been a prisoner, 
 but now spring had come, its fetters were gone, 
 and mad with delight it bounded along, ran under 
 the bridge, out again, prancing, prattling of its re- 
 gained freedom. 
 
 The bridge was on a short road that led off 
 from the main road and ended, nowhere in 
 particular. Sometime in the vague past, there had 
 existed a plan on which a road as long and as wide 
 as the main road was to be laid out so as to run 
 parallel to it, but it had yet to be accomplished, 
 and the little road ended ignominiously in the mid- 
 dle of a field. 
 
 The bridge was fairly well built, and its rustic 
 railings gave it a certain picturesque beauty. 
 
 Sylvia, finding the house unbearably lonely, took 
 her hat and coat from the hall, and went out. 
 The forest road looked dismal, and forbidding, 
 the main road led past the Wiley house, and while 
 those who dwelt there had been very kind to her, 
 she felt that she was not in the mood for a chat. 
 How different she was from the Sylvia Durant 
 who, a year ago, had been so bright, so light- 
 hearted, so full of life, drinking in the pleasures 
 that seemed made for her especial delight. 
 
 She was well, surely, she told herself, but she 
 was aware of a languor, a weariness that was new,
 
 322 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 and strange, and that made slight effort seem la- 
 borious. 
 
 Her coloring had been exquisite, but the soft 
 pink had left her cheek, and her fine eyes were 
 sad and shadowy. 
 
 The strain of the long, dreary months at " The 
 Three Birches," had told upon her, but harder 
 than all else had been Jack's silence. She had 
 hoped against hope, telling herself that, even 
 though delayed, a letter would surely come. 
 
 She knew nothing of his absence from the city, 
 nor did she dream that both letters that she had 
 worded with such care were, by Fate's jugglery, 
 hidden from sight, inside the desk. 
 
 She had turned into the side road, and had 
 walked slowly along until she reached the brook. 
 Now, on the bridge she stood, leaning upon the 
 railing, and looking down into the clear stream 
 below. 
 
 She was thinking, thinking. 
 
 How clear was the little stream, how gayly it 
 babbled on its way. On the opposite bank was a 
 thicket of alders, and closely interwoven with the 
 alders was a mass of underbrush, making an im- 
 penetrable hedge that was darkly mirrored in the 
 stream.
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 323 
 
 How bravely she had come to the little village 
 the first of June, and although the time that she 
 must spend there had seemed almost endless to 
 look forward to, yet had she felt fairly cheerful, 
 because of the prize that she was to attain, aye, 
 to win for his sake ! 
 
 ' Who would have said that Jack, my Jack, 
 could feel so hard, so cold that both my letters, 
 lovingly written, would fail to move him, or to 
 win from him one comforting word for me? " she 
 whispered, and the bubbles, large and small, sailed 
 complacently toward the little bridge and under it, 
 as placidly as if all the world were as serene as 
 the surface of the brook. 
 
 She saw the dark reflection of the thicket on the 
 opposite bank; next a bit of the old bridge caught 
 her attention as its image lay repeated in the clear 
 depths below. 
 
 The breeze stirred the surface, and the shadow 
 bridge wavered, then steadied itself, and when 
 again the water became placid, she saw, for the 
 first time, a thoughtful face looking down at her. 
 The eyes looked upward into her own eyes, and 
 their sadness startled her. 
 
 " Do I look like that? " she whispered. 
 
 Daily her mirror had told the same story, but in
 
 324 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 some way the eyes that looked up from the stream 
 were more compelling, and she knew that nature's 
 mirror spoke the truth. 
 
 " I must rouse myself," she thought, " I must 
 not look like that when Jack comes, for oh, he 
 must come ! He will not always be angry. I 
 must tell myself that he will come. How else can 
 I regain the courage and cheer that has always 
 been mine? " 
 
 A hand upon her arm made her start, and as 
 she looked up into Luke Elmore's eyes, an ex- 
 pression of annoyance passed over her face, mak- 
 ing her eyes darker, and her cheeks paler than 
 before. 
 
 " I didn't mean to frighten you," he said. 
 
 " I was foolish to be so alarmed, but I was 
 thinking," she said, " and my thoughts had trav- 
 eled fast and far. In my heart, I was miles away 
 from Blossomville when you arrived. I'd not 
 even heard your step." 
 
 " I was riding along the main road, when I saw 
 a slender figure on the bridge. I left my horse 
 in the little grove, made his bridle fast to a stout 
 limb, and then walked over here to see, and talk 
 with you." 
 
 " I don't want to be rude," she said, " but you 
 would not find me interesting this afternoon. I
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 325 
 
 am very tired. Really I can not talk, much less 
 be entertaining." 
 
 A man of a finer type would have realized that 
 the girl was not only weary, as she had said, but 
 that she was suffering anxiety over something 
 which concerned herself or her own affairs, and 
 after a few kindly words, would have moved on, 
 knowing that to remain would be annoying. 
 
 No such merciful thought flitted through the 
 doughty Squire's brain. Rather it seemed to him 
 that if she were tired, she would be the more 
 passive, and surely if she were too weary to talk, 
 then was it indeed a propitious time in which to 
 say all that was in his heart, when she would have 
 only to listen. 
 
 It required little effort to listen, he thought. 
 His first remark was a blunder. 
 
 " I saw you down here on the bridge," he said, 
 " and I thought you looked rather lonely. It 
 seemed to me that two figures would look better 
 on this bridge than one." 
 
 Sylvia, still leaning on the railing, looked down 
 into the water, making no reply. 
 
 " Is the old house awfully lonely, or do you 
 get used to it? " 
 
 " I shall never get used to it," she said vehe- 
 mently.
 
 326 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Then remember, you don't have to stay In it," 
 he said in bold insinuation, that, however, she did 
 not notice. He was talking to ears that gave 
 little heed to what he was saying. 
 
 " I've been adding extra rooms, building an ell 
 at the rear of my house," he added by way of 
 explanation. 
 
 Sylvia still looked down into the little brook. 
 The Squire always bored her, and she would 
 gladly have turned homeward, but for the thought 
 that he would go with her; and then, oh, how long 
 he would remain, talking, talking. The twilight 
 would come earlier on this cloudy day. 
 
 Would he ever go ? Why could he not see that 
 he wearied her? Why was he telling her so 
 minutely of every improvement that had been 
 added to his home? 
 
 Every one knew that Elmore dearly loved to 
 boast, but surely at the store he could find a group 
 of men who would be glad to listen. 
 
 " and piazzas back and front, and bay win- 
 dows in the parlor, and the dining-room; and as 
 soon as the outside work is done, I shall paper 
 every room, and I shall paint inside and out. Oh, 
 I've spared no expense, I never do, and when it 
 comes to the paper, I want you to choose it." 
 
 At last he had arrested her attention.
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 327 
 
 " You wish me to choose paper for your house? 
 Why should I ? " she asked, drawing back and 
 looking directly into his eyes. 
 
 How cold, yet how lovely she was. He had 
 wished to arouse her, had wished that she would 
 look at him, but now that her clear eyes were 
 steadily regarding him, he, for the first time in 
 his life, felt abashed. 
 
 All through the long months she had eluded 
 him whenever it was possible to do so, and when 
 luck so favored him that they met, she had ignored 
 his compliments, and had, in every way, endeav- 
 ored to prevent a lessening of the distance that 
 existed between them. She had avoided him. 
 Now she compelled him to speak. 
 
 Of what use longer to parry? 
 
 Again she spoke, and her voice was as cold as 
 the little brook below. 
 
 " Why, tell me, should I choose anything for 
 your home ? " 
 
 " You know you must know that I have 
 learned to care for you. You've known, a dozen 
 times, that I've been on the verge of telling you 
 this. You've avoided, yes, almost shunned 
 me, but that is because you are modest and re- 
 served." 
 
 He saw the delicate color coming to her pale
 
 328 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 cheeks, and, egotist that he was, believed it to be 
 a token of delight. 
 
 " You must have known what all this prepara- 
 tion at my house meant. It was for you, Sylvia, 
 for you ! I knew I'd win you. I've accomplished 
 everything I've ever attempted! I'm the largest 
 taxpayer in these parts. I've a fine home, and 
 when you are the mistress of a good home like 
 mine, you'll look back to ' The Three Birches ' 
 and wonder how you ever " 
 
 "Stop/" 
 
 He had gradually been moving nearer, but at 
 her sharp cry, he drew back. Even then he did 
 not understand. 
 
 He wondered that the color that a few moments 
 earlier had flushed her cheeks, had vanished, leav- 
 ing her paler than before. She might have been 
 carved from ivory, but for her flashing eyes. 
 
 " Do you think, for a moment, that I am flat- 
 tered by your favor? Do you think I ever gave 
 a moment's serious thought to you, or was in the 
 least degree interested in what you did, or did not 
 possess? Do you imagine that the old Durant 
 house gives me a setting such as I am accustomed 
 to, and for that reason I shall be glad to accept 
 the home that you offer me ? 
 
 ' There is one priceless boon that must be mine,
 
 ON THE BRIDGE 329 
 
 when I have a new, and happier home then that 
 which I now call ' home,' and that is love, great- 
 est and dearest of all possessions. No place on 
 earth, were it a palace, could be a home to me, 
 with love a stranger." 
 
 " But I love you, Sylvia!" 
 
 In his desire to boast, he had forgotten to men- 
 tion that. She turned from him with loathing. 
 His big face, his bulky form, his voice, loud and 
 strident, all were hateful to her. 
 
 She had disliked him from the first day that she 
 had seen him, when at the little gate he had drawn 
 rein and talked with her, as she sat on the porch 
 with Laddie at her side. 
 
 ; ' I love you, Sylvia. Couldn't you learn " 
 
 u Don't," she cried, then as if with a new 
 thought, she leaned toward him. 
 
 " Never speak of this again," she said, " Let 
 it forever drop." 
 
 Turning, she left the bridge and walking swiftly 
 to the main road, was just in time to meet Aunt 
 Zilla. 
 
 A sense of protection, of relief, came over 
 her, and she walked along beside her, hardly hear- 
 ing the description of this second time that Lad- 
 die had put the prophet to flight. 
 
 They had reached the gate before it occurred to
 
 330 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Aunt Zilla that Sylvia had been unusually quiet. 
 She turned squarely around and looked at her. 
 She was about to speak when a series of short, 
 sharp barks caused them to look back along the 
 road. Tearing ahead at top speed was Laddie, a 
 length of torn and bedraggled calico flying be- 
 hind him. At intervals he stopped to give it a 
 violent shake ; then on toward home he sped, bark- 
 ing with delight at this new and highly delightful 
 toy. 
 
 Just before reaching them he was seized with 
 a desire to give the thing a thorough shaking, and 
 not until he had torn it to shreds could he be in- 
 duced to enter the house.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 WHEN HEAVEN SEEMED NEAR 
 
 ALL day the clouds, leaden and lowering, had 
 obscured the sun, and twilight had come 
 early to the little village. 
 
 Sylvia drew the curtains, and lighted the great 
 lamp in the living-room to shut out the gloom, and 
 to give at least an appearance of cheer. The 
 walls with their dark crimson paper, and the rug 
 with the same coloring, caught the light and 
 glowed, as if to gladden the occupants of the old 
 house. Walls and rug were shabby, but their 
 coloring was sumptuous. The tall, quaint clock 
 chimed the hour. 
 
 Sylvia, in her low rocker by the table, sat so 
 that the lamp light fell upon her hair, turning it 
 to gold. 
 
 She could hear Aunt Zilla's quick footsteps, 
 as she bustled about, preparing tea. These 
 sounds she was conscious of in a vague way, but 
 uppermost in her mind was her disgust, her aver- 
 sion for Luke Elmore. 
 
 331
 
 332 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 His personality was repulsive to her, but 
 far more offensive was his egotism, his effront- 
 ery. 
 
 So sure of himself was he that he had believed 
 that when he chose to marry, he had only to select 
 the girl who best pleased him, and then inform 
 her of his decision to marry her. That she would 
 be delighted was a matter of course. That she 
 should have any choice in the matter had never 
 occurred to him! Small wonder that he was 
 amazed at Sylvia's attitude. 
 
 For a half-hour after she had left him, he still 
 stood upon the bridge, wondering how it had hap- 
 pened. That any one, whoever she might be, 
 could even hesitate, much less refuse him, was be- 
 yond his ability to comprehend. Injured pride, 
 anger toward Sylvia, and absolute wrath toward 
 some one who already held the key to her heart, 
 these were the emotions that filled him with rebel- 
 lion, and sent the ruddy color to his face as he 
 left the bridge. 
 
 He growled at a small boy who, in the dusk, 
 ran against him, and a shivering cur whimpered 
 at the kick that he gave it, because it crossed his 
 path. 
 
 Consideration for those of whom he wished 
 patronage ; small mercy toward any less fortunate
 
 HEAVEN SEEMED NEAR 333 
 
 than himself, that was Luke Elmore, who believed 
 himself to be an honorable man. 
 
 What would he have thought had it been pos- 
 sible for him to know that his unknown, but hated, 
 rival had been a witness to a part of the colloquy 
 upon the bridge? 
 
 And Sylvia? How strange a happening that 
 Jack Stanwood, screened by the alders, and un- 
 derbrush, should have heard a part of Elmore's 
 declaration, his presence undreamed of. After 
 the long months of separation, he had been so 
 near, that, had he called her name she would have 
 heard and answered; yet he had come, and gone, 
 without greeting or farewell. 
 
 In haste he had set out on the little journey to 
 Blossomville, and with greater haste he had left 
 it. 
 
 Sometimes Fate plays a queer prank, and then 
 leaves her victims wondering what prompted her 
 to do the trick. Trefton hearing of his friend's 
 return from the business trip, had dropped in one 
 evening, filled with the hope that somewhere on 
 the way Jack had picked up a parcel of cheer. 
 Unwilling to wait for the elevator, he had climbed 
 the stairs, and finding the door ajar, had entered, 
 surprising Jack with Sylvia's picture in his hand. 
 
 Instead of being treated 'to a series of rhapso-
 
 334 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 dies, Jack at once commenced to inveigh against 
 women as being insincere, unfaithful, changeable, 
 never twice alike, whereupon Trefton slapped him 
 on the back, and congratulated him upon his good 
 sense, declaring that he had at last awakened to 
 a sense of things as they existed. 
 
 " Before this, Jack, you've been leaning alto- 
 gether too much toward love and sentiment, 
 whereas, I've always told you that those things 
 exist only in the brains of idealists. You've 
 turned just in time to save yourself from the awful 
 fate of those who are trying to be ' Happy tho' 
 married.' 
 
 " I congratulate you, and welcome you to the 
 ' Brotherhood of Bachelors ' ! " 
 
 " Confound you, Trefton ! What kind of a 
 welcome is this you're giving me? Are you out 
 of your head? Who said anything about bache- 
 lors, anyway? You caught me looking at the 
 most beautiful girl in the world. Does that look 
 as if I were contemplating celibacy? " 
 
 Trefton was astonished. He conquered a wild 
 desire to laugh, for in Stanwood's present mood a 
 laugh would be unpardoned. 
 
 " I'll run along," Trefton said, " and I'll look 
 in again later. I'll say one thing, tho', before I 
 go, and that is, ' put away that picture, and keep
 
 HEAVEN SEEMED NEAR 335 
 
 away from the girl until you feel, well, a wee bit 
 amiable!'" 
 
 He was gone, and riding down in the elevator, 
 before Jack had thought of a reply. 
 
 Had he been a boor? Well, Trefton had been 
 irritating, offering advice that had not been so- 
 licited. What had prompted him to hail his best 
 friend as a member of what he jocularly termed 
 the " Brotherhood of Bachelors " ? 
 
 Did he think himself witty? 
 
 Because of an estrangement, the best girl in 
 the world and his humble self had been parted for 
 what seemed an outrageous length of time, but 
 was that any affair of Trefton's ? Was it a joke ? 
 
 Jack Stanwood possessed a cool head for busi- 
 ness, but that was due largely to training under the 
 iron rule of old Marcus Stanwood, for often a 
 hasty act betrayed the warm, impulsive nature that 
 lay concealed under a calm exterior. 
 
 Trefton had touched the hidden spring, and 
 Jack, aware of an uncontrollable longing to be 
 with Sylvia, and filled with resentment at Tref- 
 ton's luckless speech, threw a few articles into a 
 suit-case, turned off the gas, slammed the door of 
 his room with unnecessary violence, and took a 
 taxi to the station, intent upon but one thing, and 
 that was catching the train for Blossomville.
 
 336 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 He had found no letter awaiting him, but 
 might she not be ill? 
 
 He had fumed at the slow progress of the train, 
 and when at last he heard the station called, had 
 left the car and taken a short cut across the fields, 
 the quicker to reach the old house and Sylvia. 
 
 He had been foolish to believe the story that 
 Irma had told. 
 
 He had been unjust not to question Sylvia, be- 
 fore accepting it for a fact. 
 
 He told himself that the gloomy atmosphere of 
 the old house had influenced her, and made her 
 unlike her dear self, else had she written. 
 
 Then he had looked ahead, and felt a bit con- 
 fused as to which direction next to take. 
 
 He paused for a moment, and realized that 
 somewhere, beyond that thicket, a man's voice 
 was speaking. 
 
 Ah, a little bridge, and, if it were earlier in 
 the day, doubtless one might see two figures upon 
 it, for the man's voice was eager, so it was safe 
 to conclude that he was talking to a companion, 
 rather than communing with himself. Jack 
 laughed softly. His heart was lighter than for 
 many a day. He was soon to see Sylvia, and 
 Heaven seemed near! 
 
 He moved forward that he might ask for direc-
 
 HEAVEN SEEMED NEAR 337 
 
 tion. That was a sonorous voice, and clearly it 
 rang out through the shadowy alders. 
 
 ' You must have known what all this prepara- 
 tion at my home meant. It was for you, Sylvia, 
 for you! I knew I'd win you! " 
 
 The triumph that thrilled the speaker's voice 
 was unmistakable, and the sudden shock, the sharp 
 change from anticipated joy to keenest suffering 
 set Jack's temples throbbing. 
 
 So fast beat his heart that he seemed half suf- 
 focating, and as one in a fearful dream, too fear- 
 ful to be true, he turned, and ran, stumbling, 
 hardly knowing, surely not caring which way he 
 went, so that he might reach the station, and take 
 a train that would bear him away, away from the 
 wretched spot.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 SMOLDERING 
 
 APRIL had come, and the willows, heralds 
 of early spring, waved their garlands of 
 tender green mist, and wondered that the 
 sun was so fickle, now smiling and shedding the 
 warmth that they craved, now playing at hide-and- 
 seek with the pattering raindrops. 
 
 When the sun peeped forth, the willows looked 
 more deeply vernal; after the shower they boasted 
 jeweled tips. Along the stream the meadows 
 were showing masses of fresh color, and over the 
 water a dragon-fly hovered, out so much earlier 
 than his friends, the butterflies, that he felt lonely, 
 and began to think that he had been over ambi- 
 tious in venturing forth. The sunlit days were 
 warm, but at evening, a chill breeze came. 
 
 At the Wiley farm the blazing logs kept the liv- 
 ing-room, or " settin'-room " cozy and cheery. 
 The time had been when Ezra and his good wife 
 had worked long and hard to pay off the mortgage 
 on the farm. Since that time more land had been 
 
 338
 
 SMOLDERING 339 
 
 purchased, money earned on the farm had been 
 carefully invested, and now the two were able to 
 enjoy the fruits of their labor, and were free to 
 take things rather easy. Ezra was generous to a 
 fault, and always had been, even in the days of 
 hard work and strict economy; and it was said that 
 no one ever asked him in vain for aid. Tem- 
 perance, equally generous at heart, was a bit more 
 cautious, and there had been times when she had 
 thought his generosity a bit reckless. ' Ye don't 
 wait ter learn if a feller is deservin', 'fore ye as- 
 sist him," she often complained, to which Ezra 
 would reply: 
 
 " Why Temp'rance, whilest I was awaitin' ter 
 find that out, the feller might starve." 
 
 " I ain't speakin' er food," would be the quick 
 response, "fer I don't keer how much food ye 
 give him, but I seen ye handin' him money, too." 
 
 " Wai, he needed money, so I give him what 
 I could. Really, Temp'rance, he was in a tight 
 fix." 
 
 Even now that prosperity was theirs, she felt 
 that she must keep a restraining hand upon him, 
 lest he become more prodigal in his determination 
 to lend the proverbial helping hand. 
 
 As they sat before the blazing fire, a sense 
 of peace and comfort filled Ezra's heart. Tern-
 
 340 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 perance felt the glow, but something was puzzling 
 her. She longed to question Ezra; was wonder- 
 ing how best to begin. 
 
 After all, why not be direct about it? 
 
 For a long time silence had reigned. 
 
 Ezra was inclined to talk if his wife wished it, 
 but for once Temperance seemed to have nothing 
 to say. 
 
 Each was furtively watching the other. 
 
 The ticking of the old clock, the rustling of 
 Ezra's paper, a week-old edition, yet still worth 
 reading: these were the sounds to which his wife's 
 knitting needles kept a steady accompaniment. 
 On the red tiles before the fire sat the cat, Muffy, 
 coaxing himself to sleep with a purring lullaby. 
 Ezra took the opportunity when Temperance was 
 picking up a dropped stitch to peer at her over his 
 paper. When the stitch was replaced, Tem- 
 perance glanced sharply toward her husband, to 
 see if he were looking, and he was. 
 
 u Ezry!" 
 
 Ezra dropped his paper, and picked it up. 
 
 " Wai, Temp'rance? " he said. 
 
 " Jim Jimson seems uncommon cheerful. He's 
 tellin' all 'round town what a hard time he's had 
 with all them children ter bring up, an' that now 
 he's on the way ter see a bit er comfort, hevin'
 
 SMOLDERING 341 
 
 bought the stage route. He didn't hev no money 
 ter buy that, or anything else with, an' it's 'roun' 
 Blossomville that ye furnished the cash. Ezry, 
 
 " I guess I did," he admitted, and then waited, 
 as if for a downpour that could not be averted. 
 
 " Guess? Don't ye know, Ezry? " 
 
 11 I guess, an' I know I done it," said the gentle 
 little old man, his chin raised, his mild blue eyes 
 determined. Then came a surprise. 
 
 " Wai, all I've got ter say is, it's the best of all 
 yer good deeds, Ezry, an' that's sayin' con- 
 sid'able!" 
 
 Ezra took her hand, and for a time the two 
 sat thus. 
 
 No words were needed. They were in per- 
 fect accord. Louder purred the cat, basking in 
 the atmosphere of content, and the old clock 
 ticked cheerily on, while at the top of its dial the 
 rising sun smiled jovially down upon the happy old 
 couple. 
 
 Love, peace, and contentment were the three 
 spirits that hovered over the Wiley home, and 
 happiness was the result of their ministrations. 
 
 At the great house on the hill gloom held sway. 
 The Squire was a changed being. Proud, confi-
 
 342 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 dent, boastful, he had ever been, going his way 
 as if he were the only person in the world to be 
 considered, wearing always the mien of a con- 
 queror. 
 
 True he had much for which to be thankful, 
 much that gave reason for his complacency, but 
 nothing could warrant Luke Elmore, or indeed 
 any man, in being overbearing, or in considering 
 his own will a law. 
 
 He had felt that but one thing was necessary to 
 make his life complete, and that one thing, dearer 
 than all the world, was Sylvia Durant. 
 
 How confidently he had told her of his deter- 
 mination to place her at the head of his establish- 
 ment! Aye, that was what had hurt, that was 
 what had made him smart! 
 
 Had he asked her gently, his fall would have 
 been less humiliating, although the disappointment 
 would have been the same. 
 
 In his arrogance he had believed that the girl 
 did not exist who would hesitate for a second 
 when asked to be his wife. 
 
 But he had not asked Sylvia, proud, beautiful 
 Sylvia ! 
 
 Instead he had boldly informed her that he 
 had decided to marry her! Her anger and 
 scorn had amazed, yes, actually stunned him, and
 
 SMOLDERING 343 
 
 he had stood upon the little bridge until twilight 
 had come, looking at the spot where she had stood, 
 and seeming still to see the proud eyes that had 
 flashed fire when she had cried out: " Stop! " as 
 if she had reached the limit of endurance. When 
 later he roused himself, as from a stupor, he was 
 aware of a sudden revulsion of feeling. 
 
 His egotism had received a staggering blow, 
 and filled with anger toward Sylvia, toward the 
 whole world, especially the wee part of it called 
 " Blossomville," he turned homeward, striking at 
 any object that chanced to be in his way, much 
 more like an ugly-tempered child than like a grown 
 man. 
 
 The housekeeper, unaware of what had hap- 
 pened to banish his usual complacency, tried in 
 every way to please him, and failed ignominiously. 
 
 Indoors, or out wandering about the place, it 
 was all the same. Luke Elmore had become sul- 
 len, morose. 
 
 Constant brooding did not improve matters, 
 and daily he became more churlish. 
 
 To make matters worse, the village news 
 gatherer, Josh Lumley, chanced to pass one morn- 
 ing as the Squire stood at the gate. 
 
 " Git much mail over here? " he asked, for the 
 want of a more interesting subject.
 
 344 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " No," growled the Squire. 
 
 " What's the matter? " Josh inquired. 
 
 "Ain't ye feelin' well?" 
 
 " Do I look sick? " roared Elmore. 
 
 " Wai, no, not 'zactly," drawled Josh, " but 
 ye do look pestered." 
 
 Before he could reply Josh continued, " An' 
 so be I, I yum I be, fer they's one thing what's 
 goin' on in this tarnal place that I can't find out 
 'bout, an' that is who the feller is that's writin' 
 so many letters ter Miss Durant, an' there ain't 
 nobody that knows. Even Nat Gates can't tell, 
 an' he's held 'em up ter the winder, an' even held 
 a candle behind 'em of an evenin' but they're writ 
 on too thick paper, an' the onwallop is thick, too, 
 so's ye can't noways see through it." 
 
 " Clear out, will you? I don't like your 
 news! " shouted Elmore, and Josh, with a mock 
 assumption of fear, went ambling off down the 
 road, chuckling at the show of anger that he had 
 called forth. 
 
 " I wanted ter know ef he cared," he said to 
 himself, " an' I found out, by jing! " 
 
 And that news was a veritable firebrand 
 touched to Elmore's sullen wrath. The letters 
 that came to Sylvia were not so numerous as Josh 
 had represented, and they had come from her
 
 SMOLDERING 345 
 
 lawyer, in reply to questions that she had been 
 obliged to ask, but the curious ones did not know 
 that. Josh Lumley had wrought greater mischief 
 than he dreamed. 
 
 Luke Elmore remained away from the 
 " Square," and the old cronies who met at Nat 
 Gates' store to " swap " bits of recently acquired 
 gossip, talked and wondered, and wondered and 
 talked, but came no nearer to solving the problem 
 as to the cause of the Squire's continued absence. 
 
 " He ain't sick," said an old farmer, " fer I seen 
 him yest'day as I was goin' by." 
 
 " Oh, ye're too sure, but not smart 'nough at 
 guessin'," responded a lean, long-legged man, who 
 sat on the cracker-barrel and took frequent 
 lunches therefrom. 
 
 " That feller's lost some weight, but they is 
 somethin' else he's lost," he continued, " an' that's 
 peace er mind." 
 
 " Sho ! Ye don't mean that," remarked a little 
 man, shifting a very dry prune, so that he might 
 be able to talk around it. 
 
 "Don't I?" cried the challenged one, "Don't 
 I?" he repeated. "Wai, all I got ter say is: 
 ' Go up that way, an' take a look at him,' V I 
 guess ye'll c'nclood I hit the bulls-eye when I made 
 that remark! "
 
 346 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 The " Squire " was indeed losing weight, and 
 day by day his countenance became more forbid- 
 ding. 
 
 Rarely he spoke unless spoken to, and his re- 
 plies were brief, a monosyllable whenever pos- 
 sible. 
 
 It had been sufficiently outrageous that he 
 had been actually scorned, but the thought that 
 another had possessed the girl's heart, while he, 
 Luke Elmore, had been angling for it, ah, that 
 was maddening! 
 
 Over and over he turned the matter, and daily 
 his anger increased. 
 
 His housekeeper was baffled. He had driven 
 the carpenters from the place, declaring that the 
 noise of their hammers was unbearable. When 
 she inquired if their work were unsatisfactory, he 
 told her to mind her own business! No va- 
 grant cat or dog crossed the place now, having be- 
 come too well acquainted with the toe of the 
 Squire's boot, and also with the fact that when he 
 was not sufficiently near to kick, he threw stones 
 with unerring aim. 
 
 Weary of remaining indoors, he would go out 
 into the little grove at the rear of the house, where 
 he could walk with small chance of meeting neigh- 
 bor or friend.
 
 SMOLDERING 347 
 
 With his arms folded and his head bent, he 
 felt relieved because free from the watchful eye 
 of the housekeeper. 
 
 There, with only moody thoughts for company, 
 he would pace for hours along a well-worn foot- 
 path, angry with one whom he had never seen, 
 and filled with impotent rage, because of the im- 
 possibility of striking a fearful blow at one whose 
 name and whereabouts were unknown to him. 
 On mild days the housekeeper watched him from 
 the window in the barn loft. 
 
 There came a day when she saw him suddenly 
 halt, as if some unusual thought had, for the mo- 
 ment, held him. She turned to leave the window, 
 fearing that he might see her, but upon looking 
 over her shoulder, she saw that he had resumed 
 his walk. 
 
 "Queer what happened to change him so!" 
 she said, adding, after a moment's reflection: 
 " Always acted 's if he owned the earth, an' was 
 turr'ble proud of it. Now! Good Ian' ! Ye'd 
 think he didn't hev nothin' an' never expected to, 
 neither." 
 
 A moment longer she regarded him. " I vum ! 
 He's talkin' ter hisself! I'd give all creation ef 
 this ol' barn was nigh 'nough, so's I could hear 
 what he's mutt'rin' 'bout."
 
 348 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 It was indeed a new idea that had caused Luke 
 Elmore to halt in the middle of the path. 
 
 " If some one is constantly writing to her, it 
 must be that he sometimes comes to ' The Three 
 Birches ' to see her ! Fool that I didn't think of 
 that before," he growled. 
 
 He resumed his tramping, and for a time 
 seemed lost in gloomy thought. Suddenly he 
 started, and the color rushed to his cheek, his eyes 
 darkened, and he clenched his fists. His breath 
 came faster. He seemed struggling with some 
 terrible thought that he strove to down. 
 
 Again he paused. He removed his hat as if to 
 let the soft breeze cool his throbbing temples. 
 Then an impulse, too strong to be resisted seized 
 him. 
 
 " If I could know when the writer of those let- 
 ters was on his way to the Durant house, I'd lay 
 a trap that would be his finish! " he muttered.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 
 
 RINGING blows of an axe awoke the echoes 
 in the forest, as a sturdy youth strove to fell 
 a fine stately specimen at the edge of the 
 clearing. 
 
 Another youth stood watching him, a youth so 
 like him in face and form that one need not be 
 told that they were brothers. 
 
 The clearing was the result of a week of their 
 combined labor, and bravely the two young fel- 
 lows had worked, the darker, and stronger of the 
 two having chopped the greater number of the 
 trees whose stumps now barely showed above the 
 ground. 
 
 The busy one paused to rest, and the other 
 laughed to see him rub his aching arm. 
 
 " Gee! My arms are lame! " he said. " Say 
 you ! What's the joke? I'll bet yours ache, only 
 you won't say so! " 
 
 " Ache nothin' ! " exclaimed the other, " My 
 
 349
 
 350 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 muscles are like iron. Here, gimme the axe, an' 
 I'll finish that job quicker'n a flash! " 
 
 He attempted to wrench the axe from his broth- 
 er's hand, the two boys laughing, as each strug- 
 gled for possession. 
 
 "G'way!" shouted the first youth. 
 
 " I commenced ter chop this tree an' I'm goin' 
 ter finish it. You can do the next." 
 
 " All right, Dan. Chop away. Show yer 
 strength! Now ye do it, now ye do it! Hoo- 
 ray!" 
 
 The younger of the two summoned all his 
 strength that he might quickly fell the tree, and 
 prove the good-natured jeering to be idle. 
 
 He believed that a few well-directed bfows 
 would bring down the tree, but when obliged to 
 rest for a moment it was still standing. 
 
 " Say, that's the toughest one I've tackled this 
 week." 
 
 " Wai, let me have a hack at it, Dan. The 
 job's too big fer ye." 
 
 " Oh, git out, Gus! I want ter finish this one 
 myself!" 
 
 " Hi, fellers ! Drop that job, an' come on over 
 ter the next village. The big mill is all ablaze, 
 an' no water handy ! " 
 
 " Be ye jokin'? " queried Dan.
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 351 
 
 ' Jokin' ? Wai, 'tain't much of a joke. Come 
 on over! Folks is runnin' their legs off ter git 
 there!" 
 
 Dan dropped the axe, leaving the tree cut nearly 
 through. 
 
 " Say ! We oughn't ter leave a tree like that," 
 said Gus. " Finish cuttin' it, an' then come on." 
 
 " Oh, let it be ! " cried Dan, " fer if it falls it'll 
 only smash 'nother tree, an' save us the bother er 
 choppin' that one at least." 
 
 " That's so," agreed Dan, and the three youths 
 started for the scene of the fire. 
 
 " By jing! The prophet has been foretellin' 
 flames an' smoke the hull endurin' time fer 'most 
 a year, an' here's a reg'lar blaze ter prove he was 
 right," chuckled the lad who had brought the news. 
 
 The Squire saw the smoke curling far above the 
 village, and knew that it must be the great mill. 
 No other building of any size stood in that loca- 
 tion. He felt neither interest, nor apprehension. 
 Why should he? No money of his was invested 
 in the mill, so 
 
 " Let it burn! " he growled. 
 
 From his half-finished piazza he could see men, 
 women, and children rushing from every direction, 
 in haste to reach the burning mill. To some it
 
 352 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 meant loss of money invested, to others, loss of 
 employment; but to the Squire it meant no loss of 
 any sort, therefore he smiled as with grim amuse- 
 ment at the panic down in the village. 
 
 " What's the use of getting excited? " he mut- 
 tered. " It'll continue to burn, now that the blaze 
 is underway. It is only wasted effort to rush 
 about, or to try to save it. ' Let it burn' I say ! " 
 
 Elmore had never been considerate of the wel- 
 fare of others, but since that afternoon on the 
 bridge his surliness had alarmingly increased, and 
 the housekeeper had become apprehensive. 
 
 " Ef he keeps on frettin', an' broodin' as he's a 
 doin' of now, he'll be out'n his head! " She said 
 this to herself, and then repeated it to the neigh- 
 bors. " He didn't never seem ter feel any sym- 
 p'thy fer folks when they had hard luck, but he's 
 wuss'n that now, fer now he 'pears ter be actooally 
 glad of it." 
 
 Discreetly she watched him, as he stood on the 
 lawn, looking down upon the excited people of 
 Blossomville, as they raced toward the burning 
 pile or stood in little groups, eagerly questioning 
 how the fire had started, what had kindled it, and 
 whether the owners would rebuild. 
 
 " Good chance for a walk," he remarked, and
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 353 
 
 having addressed the landscape, he was not sur- 
 prised at receiving no response. 
 
 " Good chance to take a tramp, without ex- 
 pecting to meet half the people a man knows, every 
 one of them bent on inquiring for his health." 
 
 The next moment he had changed his mind. 
 He would ride, rather than walk. If he walked, 
 whoever he chanced to meet would try to detain 
 him, and he was in no mood for talking. 
 
 No, he would ride. Then if some one were 
 fool enough to attempt to stop him, he could 
 ignore him, and ride on. With this cheerful 
 thought, he strode off to the barn. 
 
 "Here Giles! Giles! That loafer is never 
 on hand when he's wanted! " 
 
 Giles, hearing the shout, came running around 
 from behind the barn and began to explain his 
 momentary absence, but the Squire cut him short. 
 
 u Never mind about that. Just bring out Fire- 
 fly. I'm going for a ride." 
 
 " He's in a nasty mood, Sir," Giles remarked. 
 " I do'no' whatever ails him, but he's nearly 
 kicked the stall down, an' he's pawin' the floor, an' 
 he tried to kick me. I'd not be ridin' him 'f I 
 was you, Sir. He's that ugly that I think he'd be 
 too much fer ye "
 
 354 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " That's my business," snapped the Squire. 
 " Bring him out." 
 
 An instant Giles hesitated. 
 
 " Bring him out, I say," shouted the Squire, and 
 without further effort at dissuading, Giles, after 
 many attempts, succeeded in getting both saddle 
 and bridle upon Firefly. 
 
 The Squire lost no time, and vaulting into the 
 saddle, was off down the road. As horse and 
 rider disappeared behind a clump of willows at 
 the bend, Giles thrust out both hands, palms down- 
 ward, shook them, as one relinquishing all respon- 
 sibility, and returned to the rear of the barn to 
 resume his day-dreaming. 
 
 " The devil hisself wouldn't be able ter deal 
 with him these days! " he grumbled. 
 
 Firefly, aware that he was being guided in 
 no especial direction, chose his own course, and 
 soon turned from the road into a woodland 
 path. 
 
 His master seemed unaware of the fact that 
 they had left the road. 
 
 Loosely he held the bridle, and with his head 
 bent, rode on toward the heart of the woods 
 along a narrow foot path'. 
 
 Suddenly the horse stopped, as if he saw or 
 heard something that was not to his liking.
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 355 
 
 " Go on! " roared Elmore, with a smart tap of 
 his boot-heel. 
 
 It was not spurred, and for some unknown rea- 
 son the mettlesome creature ignored the act. At 
 any other time, Firefly would had reared angrily 
 at such an indignity. 
 
 " If I could know the day that that fellow comes 
 to ' The Birches ' ; if I could know if he ' short- 
 cuts ' from the station across the meadow land, I'd 
 lay a trap that would " 
 
 A sharp, crashing sound as of rending timber 
 smote the air. 
 
 Fireflyplunged forward, hurling the rider over 
 his head, then through the wood he bolted, his 
 eyes wild, his mouth foaming. 
 
 Elmore's head had struk a bit of jagged rock, 
 stunning him, and the great tree crashing down 
 upon him, held him pinned to earth, a prisoner. 
 How long he lay there unconscious he never knew, 
 but night-fall was at hand when he opened his 
 eyes, and realized that he was a captive. His 
 mind had been full of evil thoughts when, sud- 
 denly, he had been thrown to earth, and held, as 
 in a vise, only his brain capable of action. Now, 
 he had time to think. 
 
 He did think. 
 
 What caused the splitting pain in his temples?
 
 356 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Why had his arms been pinioned? If only his 
 arm had been free it would have been less horri- 
 ble. Were his ribs crushed? 
 
 Under the fearful weight of that tree-trunk 
 there was excruciating pain, nay, agony. 
 
 Where was Firefly? 
 
 If the riderless horse had gone home, or had 
 raced through the village, some one surely would 
 have been out searching for him before this. 
 
 Would help never come? Would he lie there 
 all night? What could have caused a huge tree 
 like that to fall, and if it must fall upon any one, 
 why upon him? 
 
 Then wrath mastered him, and he raved at the 
 stupidity of Giles, who, no doubt, long before this 
 time, had led the horse into the barn, made him 
 fast in his stall, and given never a thought to the 
 hapless rider. 
 
 He alternately raved and groaned, for he was 
 indeed in agony. Then, again he became uncon- 
 scious. The chill, damp breeze of early evening 
 roused him, and he realized that he was very cold. 
 
 He gazed upward at the sky, and wondered 
 that no stars looked down at him. 
 
 It was a dreadful thing to be there suffering 
 torments, and no sound of human life near. He 
 tried to think in what part of the great stretch of
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 357 
 
 woodland he was lying. The clearing had been 
 made in a week's time, but he knew nothing of the 
 work of the two young woodchoppers, and 
 vaguely endeavored to recall if in any part of the 
 forest he had ever seen so large an open space. 
 
 Then a gust of wind drove a sheet of mist 
 across his upturned face, and he knew that the 
 night was to be stormy. The drizzling rain 
 drenched his garments, came down pitilessly upon 
 his uncovered head. His wet hair clung to his 
 temples. 
 
 Oh, the misery of lying there, without even the 
 comfort of moving arm or hand! His hat lay 
 within easy reach if only one hand had been free. 
 What had been a drizzle soon turned to a 
 downpour. 
 
 The wind had shifted. 
 
 From the south, warm and sultry, had come the 
 mistlike drizzle. 
 
 Then suddenly it had veered, and from the 
 northeast had sped a cold, chilling storm. 
 
 The night seemed at least a month long; the 
 following day, endless. 
 
 All through that dreadful day the storm raged, 
 its fury only spent when twilight came. 
 
 Late in the evening of that second night, El- 
 more saw wee stars peeping forth; and one
 
 358 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 greater, more brilliant than the others, looked 
 down at him like an acusing eye. 
 
 He closed his eyes, but when he opened them, 
 it still was looking at him, and by its radiance, it 
 seemed to light the inner recesses of his heart. 
 
 He saw himself, brooding, surly, without a 
 kindly word for any one. He thought of how he 
 had rode Firefly, caring not in which direction the 
 animal had gone. Had he guided him, this 
 wretched experience would never have been his. 
 The horse had wandered aimlessly into the wood- 
 land path. 
 
 Giles had warned him. 
 
 Firefly had been ill-humored, but the crash of 
 the falling tree had been enough to frighten any 
 horse. With Firefly it had been a case of sudden 
 panic. 
 
 Again Elmore closed his eyes as he recalled, 
 with fearful distinctness the sensation of plunging 
 forward, then striking on his head with terrific 
 force, then, blackness. He shuddered, then cried 
 out in anguish. Would help never come? 
 
 Suddenly an awful thought flitted through his 
 mind. A thought that was so appalling that, for 
 a second, he held his breath. 
 
 He looked upward. The great star, cold and 
 brilliant, looked steadily down at him.
 
 LIKE AN ACCUSING EYE 359 
 
 Yes, yes, the star was right. There was no 
 such thing as evading that clear, relentless eye up 
 there in the heavens. 
 
 It was waiting, waiting! 
 
 " I do admit," he murmured, " I do admit. I 
 meant to lay a trap for him, a man I'd never seen; 
 and who, while he had won her, had done so hon- 
 estly, knowing nothing of me, or my love for her. 
 She was his first, and always; I was the inter- 
 loper, though I didn't know it, and here I lie in 
 a trap such as a few days ago I would have been 
 glad to have seen him in. 
 
 " I was trapped, even while I was longing to 
 trap him. Lord have mercy!" 
 
 He had again lapsed into unconsciousness.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 SUMMONED 
 
 THE frightened horse, freed from his 
 rider's weight, had plunged headlong into 
 the heart of the forest, and probably 
 would have continued to run until exhausted, but 
 for the thicket in which he found himself ensnared. 
 Blinded by terror he had dashed into a clump of 
 bushes, and his bridle had become so entangled in 
 the briers that, struggle as he would, he could not 
 break away. 
 
 Hunger and thirst tormented him. He had 
 pawed the ground with his restless hoofs, tear- 
 ing the turf entirely away. He had tossed his 
 head until his mane had become as firmly tangled 
 as his bridle in the short, briery branches and 
 twigs of the underbrush. 
 
 Up at the house on the hill a disconsolate pair 
 talked of the Squire, his moodiness, his strange 
 disappearance. 
 
 " He'd been gloomy an' queer for some time. 
 I knew sumthin' would happen ef he kep'on actin' 
 
 360
 
 SUMMONED 361 
 
 so, a-talkin' ter hisself, an' a-worryin' like all pos- 
 sessed! " 
 
 " Oh, ye did, did ye? " Giles responded. His 
 little, bead-like eyes were not pleasant to look at. 
 
 "Ye knew somethin'd happen, did ye? Wai, 
 ef ye knew so much, I think it would hev been 
 some decent ef ye'd told me 'n' let me been some 
 prepared. I'd not dreamt he'd run away! " 
 
 'What could ye've done?" was the sharp 
 query. "Come, speak up! What could ye?" 
 
 " I could a looked fer 'nother place," growled 
 Giles, " an' 'fore this thing happened, been al- 
 ready comf'tably fixed." 
 
 " How 'bout me? " questioned the housekeeper. 
 
 ' Why, likely, 'f I'd gone, ye'd had ter, fer ye 
 couldn't do the housework an' see ter the critters. 
 Ye're a fine cook, so 'twould been easy fer ye to 
 find a place." 
 
 She was about to ask what would have become 
 of the " critters," when a vigorous knocking 
 brought both to their feet. 
 
 Giles rushed to open the door, the housekeeper 
 close behind him. 
 
 Josh Lumley, flushed and panting, stood staring 
 up at them. 
 
 ' The Squire's down in the wood, with a big 
 tree what's tumbled on top of him. I sorter guess
 
 362 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 he's pooty nigh done for, but I ain't sure. I 
 found him jest as I was goin' through the woods. 
 He's a layin' " 
 
 " Ye'd better not stop fer partic'lars, Josh Lum- 
 ley," cried the housekeeper, in great excitement. 
 
 " Here, you, Giles ! You'n' Josh go'n' git 
 some fellers ter help ye, an' I'll hev things all 
 ready when ye bring him back. 
 
 "Say!" she called after them. " Ef ye see 
 any youngster round, send fer the village doctor. 
 The one up this way don't know nothin' ! " 
 
 Luke Elmore knew naught of his rescuers, or 
 of his home-coming. Unconscious when they 
 reached him, he did not revive until he awoke to 
 find himself in his own room, the doctor bending 
 over him. 
 
 The news of his disappearance had gone like 
 wildfire through the little village, had reached 
 u The Three Birches," and had set Aunt Zilla 
 wondering, as indeed every one wondered, what 
 had caused him to so suddenly disappear, leaving 
 no word of explanation behind him. 
 
 Sylvia paid little heed to what had happened, 
 or what was being said regarding the Squire. 
 The thought of possible accident did not occur
 
 SUMMONED 363 
 
 to her, and she was only vaguely aware that Luke 
 Elmore, if he had chosen to leave town, had a 
 right to do so, and that at least, for a time, he 
 would not annoy her. 
 
 Upon the heels of this message came another, 
 telling of his plight when found, and various were 
 the descriptions of his condition. 
 
 He was hopelessly maimed; he was not at all 
 maimed; he was a very sick man, with hardly a 
 chance of complete recovery; he would be frail 
 for a year, he was, but why prolong the list? 
 
 Like any information given to the populace of 
 a small place, it became marvelously twisted, but 
 all agreed upon one point: the Squire was des- 
 perately ill. 
 
 At first delirious, he raved of the night, of the 
 pitiless stars looking coldly down at him, of the 
 fearful weight of the great tree, then of the 
 trap that he had dreamed of setting; then, of be- 
 ing himself trapped. 
 
 Once he murmured: "Sylvia, little girl, for- 
 give me," but of the one for whom he had vowed 
 vengeance he said nothing. He whom he had 
 hated as a rival was a being whose name he had 
 never heard. That was a character made known 
 to him by the tale bearing of Josh Lumley.
 
 364 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Luke Elmore had been annoyed by Sylvia's in- 
 difference, maddened by her refusal to listen to 
 his declaration, and infuriated by Lumley's story 
 of the number of letters received by Sylvia, a 
 number that Josh had described as " 'normous." 
 
 He was, beyond question, a very sick man, and 
 as he lay listening to the ticking of the clock, his 
 thoughts were far from pleasant company. 
 
 He had been a sturdy man, whose ruddy coun- 
 tenance had been brightened by small, rather 
 merry, twinkling eyes. 
 
 Now, he was pale and his eyes seemed larger, 
 because his face was thinner. Serious, thought- 
 ful eyes they were; eyes from which the twinkle 
 had vanished. Luke Elmore believed that his 
 time on earth was short, and he looked at many 
 things from an entirely different viewpoint. 
 
 He had become strangely patient, and made but 
 few requests, asking for things, rather than de- 
 manding them, and asking so gently that the mem- 
 bers of his household were deeply impressed; and 
 Giles confided to the housekeepr that he would 
 feel easier if the Squire would " jest holler once't 
 more, so 'twould seem like home." 
 
 One warm, and softly sunny morning Sylvia 
 awoke early, after pleasant dreams too vague to be 
 remembered, yet leaving a feeling of having spent
 
 SUMMONED 365 
 
 her sleeping hours enwrapped as within a golden 
 haze. 
 
 She stood before the glass, combing her bright, 
 waving hair and dreaming happy dreams because 
 so soon the day would come when she would be 
 free free to leave the forbidding old house for- 
 ever ! 
 
 The long winter was behind her, and although 
 still anxious because no reply had come to her 
 letters, no word from Jack; yet on this morning, 
 for some unknown reason, her heart was lighter 
 than for many days. Was a letter coming to- 
 day? Perhaps. Ah, what a rare delight that 
 would be. 
 
 She coiled the waving masses, pinned them se- 
 curely, slipped into a soft clinging gown, and ran 
 down to the garden. 
 
 The shrubs were freshly green, their leaves 
 small, and tender. Some were already budding. 
 The fleur-de-lis showed their bold, spear-like foli- 
 age, and there, out under the old, swinging sign 
 was a tall bush whose yellow blossoms were just 
 opening. 
 
 " Something glad may happen. Nothing sad 
 could happen on a day like this ! " she cried, and 
 in the wild shrubbery across the road, a wee bird 
 echoed her words with his clear, flute-like song:
 
 366 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Like this! Like this! 
 Like this! This! This!" 
 
 Down the road came a sturdy lad, whistling 
 " Bonny Dundee." His cap sat jauntily upon his 
 head, his hands were thrust into his trousers 
 pockets. His bearing was care-free, and the rol- 
 licking Scotch melody poured from his pursed 
 lips a torrent of gayety. 
 
 " What if he should bring a ' special ' letter to 
 me," Sylvia whispered, eagerly. 
 
 Her heart beat faster. So sure was she that 
 he was the bearer of good news, that she walked 
 along the garden path, so as to be near the gate 
 when he should reach it. 
 
 " Are you Miss Durant? " he asked. 
 
 u Yes," she said, then eagerly: " Have you a 
 letter or message for me? " 
 
 " M'rn," he mumbled, hunting first in one 
 pocket, then the other. 
 
 " Oh, I know where 'tis! I put it in my cap," 
 he said, produced it, and went on his way whis- 
 tling, continuing the air from where he had left 
 off. 
 
 11 Wait! There may be an answer!" she 
 cried, but his musical efforts were mighty, and he 
 did not hear her. 
 
 She opened the folded paper :
 
 SUMMONED 367 
 
 "DEER Miss DEWRANT: 
 
 ' We don't no ways bleeev the Squire will be 
 livin' a gret wile. 
 
 " As he ast me ter send fer yer, yer better come 
 rite of. He calls fer yer continooal. 
 
 " GILES." 
 
 "(I'm his farm hand. Yer may not no my 
 naim.)" 
 
 The sunlight was as bright; but the old garden 
 - the morning itself was changed. Keen dis- 
 appointment that the message had not been the 
 long delayed word from the one who, of all the 
 world, she held dearest; regret for the man who, 
 so short a time before, had been buoyant and con- 
 fident; these were the sensations that gripped her 
 heart, and beside these was a very genuine dread 
 of the interview. 
 
 Why had he sent for her? Would he plead 
 with her for one word of affection? Though he 
 were actually dying she could not give it. 
 
 Once she had heard of a similar case, and the 
 man had sent for the girl, to beg her to marry 
 him, that thus she might inherit his property. 
 
 Was the Squire intending to do that? 
 
 She could not accede. 
 
 She did not want property thus obtained, and 
 how could she ever convince Jack that Elmore 
 had been nothing to her. Why must she go?
 
 3 68 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Little did she think that already Irma, who had 
 professed to be her friend, had endeavored to in- 
 fluence Jack by representing that one there was in 
 Blossomville who had, in his absence, won Sylvia's 
 regard. 
 
 Of course Aunt Zilla approved of the call. 
 " He's been real neighborly, Sylvia," she said, 
 " an' since he's sent for ye, ye couldn't 'scape goin'. 
 I most wonder he didn't send fer me, fer 'bout 
 ev'ry time he's come here, ye've cut upstairs, so 
 I've had ter ent'tain him. I wonder ef he's sent 
 fer many er the neighbors." 
 
 Sylvia had never told her of the interview on 
 the bridge.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 RETRIBUTION 
 
 SYLVIA, white-gowned, without a bit of color 
 at throat or girdle, walked slowly along the 
 road, dreading the interview, yet aware 
 that each step took her nearer to the Elmore 
 place. 
 
 She had never seen one who was near death. 
 She wished that his had been an ordinary illness 
 from which recovery was reasonably certain. 
 She did not remember her parents. Her earliest 
 recollection was of her Aunt Daphne, and Mrs. 
 Daphne Van Horn had always been exceedingly 
 well. 
 
 Aunt Sylvia Durant had died suddenly of 
 heart-failure, while her sister, Mrs. Van Horn and 
 Sylvia were away on a pleasure trip. It was 
 some weeks before they were once more in the 
 big, showy house on the Avenue, so that they 
 learned of her death, long after the funeral. 
 
 Sylvia blamed herself that she so dreaded to 
 reach the house, yet she could not hasten. She 
 
 369
 
 370 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 believed that she had never before made such slow 
 progress. Were her shoes weighted with lead? 
 Her feet seemed very heavy. 
 
 She was in a mood that caught impressions of 
 all things, important, and unimportant. 
 
 She noticed the busy ants. They were working 
 as assiduously as though the village were not 
 shaken with a terrible happening. Bees and but- 
 terflies hovered over the blossoms, as happy and 
 light of heart, as gay of spirit as if it were glad 
 news that traveled from lip to lip. The sun- 
 shine was bright, the little Jack-o'-lanterns flick- 
 ered along the road. 
 
 All things were glad, yet there across the bridge 
 lay one who had enjoyed life, but was about to re- 
 linquish it. 
 
 She had wished that she might never see him 
 again, but at a time like this who, with a heart, 
 could refuse? 
 
 How strange it was that the sunshine, the 
 dancing leaves, the little live things were as ani- 
 mated as if nothing had occurred to ruffle the calm 
 of the village. 
 
 Did the passing out from life of a soul that had 
 lived in their midst, make no impression, leave no 
 scar? 
 
 Was death as little impressive as the fall of a
 
 RETRIBUTION 371 
 
 pebble in the stream, only the ever-widening cir- 
 cles on the surface, telling where it had fallen, 
 then the calm, as if nothing had happened? 
 
 She was on the bridge now, and she paused for 
 a moment to lean upon the railing, and look 
 down, down into the clear water. 
 
 Even the little stream murmured on its way, its 
 song as cheery as when the Squire stood on the 
 bridge, boldly declaring his intention regarding 
 the girl whom he loved. Confident he had been. 
 He was always confident. 
 
 Sylvia wished that she could now feel the glad 
 assurance that had filled her heart at early morn- 
 ing. She had awakened from happy dreams, and 
 her first thought had been of the day, now near 
 at hand, when she would be free to leave " The 
 Three Birches." 
 
 " A year and a day," the will had read, and 
 June first would complete the year, June second, 
 the extra day! 
 
 Jack knew the date. He would surely come 
 for her! And he would write to tell her of his 
 coming! But she would not let pride keep her 
 silent. It might be yes, it must be that neither 
 of the two loving letters that she had written 
 had reached him. 
 
 She would write and mail the letter at once !
 
 372 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 But the message from the Elmore place had 
 been too imperative to allow her to delay her call 
 there. It had urged her to come at once, and 
 she had set forth. 
 
 She must not longer stand on the little bridge 
 dreaming. 
 
 She dreaded to come face to face with a dying 
 man. 
 
 She was annoyed with herself that she so shrank 
 from the interview. 
 
 Why did she feel so ill, yes, sick at heart? 
 
 The year at the old house had told upon her, 
 and her nerves were badly shaken by the long 
 strain. 
 
 " Oh, to be again my own self, happy with Jack, 
 and care free! " she thought. 
 
 With a determined effort, she left the bridge, 
 and without longer delay, walked briskly along 
 the road. With a firm step she turned in at the 
 broad driveway. The housekeeper saw her com- 
 ing, and hastened to the door. Sylvia had worn 
 no hat. Leaving her parasol in the hall, she fol- 
 lowed the housekeeper. 
 
 " This way, Miss Durant," she said, and the 
 girl found herself at the door of a large chamber. 
 
 " Go right in," said the housekeeper, and Sylvia
 
 RETRIBUTION 373 
 
 entered. Was that any one whom she had ever 
 seen? 
 
 Propped up among pillows, thin-faced, and seri- 
 ous-eyed, he extended a slender hand, a faint 
 smile curving his lips. In an instant all dread 
 had fled, and in its place was a great pity for the 
 man whom suffering had so changed. 
 
 "Like the great tree that had been felled!" 
 was the startling simile that flashed through her 
 mind, and she shuddered. There was a look of 
 pleading in his eyes. Gently he held her hand 
 for a second, k>oking fixedly at the lovely face, 
 then: 
 
 " Sylvia, girl," he said, " there are a few things 
 I want to say to you; things that I intend you, 
 and only you to know. I have suffered much since 
 I last saw you." 
 
 She was about to speak, but he lifted his hand, 
 as a sign that he would continue: " I was not 
 referring to the accident, but rather to the mental 
 suffering I endured between that day at twilight, 
 when you left me on the bridge, and the day when 
 Firefly threw me. 
 
 ''I was hurt and angry, angry with you, with 
 Blossomville, with all the world, Sylvia. Dur- 
 ing those days, rumor told me that, somewhere,
 
 374 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 there was a lucky man who held you dearest out 
 of all the world, and to whom your own pure heart 
 had been given before I ever knew you. Sylvia, 
 was that true? " 
 
 The fine head nodded assent, but the eyes 
 avoided his. 
 
 Pity for the wretched man filled her heart. A 
 lump in her throat made it impossible for her to 
 speak. 
 
 " Look up, Sylvia, little girl. I can bear it 
 better now, for since I've been lying here, I've 
 learned much. I can not understand why I had 
 to learn that love can not be gained by compulsion; 
 that it must be gently won. My heart was filled 
 with a desire for venegance, on that day when I 
 rode out onto the highway. In my ugly mood I 
 forgot to guide my horse. As Firefly took me 
 through the lonely forest, I was conscious of in- 
 tense hatred for my rival, whoever he might be. 
 Just at that time, I believe that there existed noth- 
 ing that I did not hate ! 
 
 " Listen, girl ! You wouldn't think any decent 
 man could dream of so evil a thing as setting a 
 trap for one whom he had never seen, yet that is 
 what I longed to do. My heart was full of bit- 
 terness. I vowed to know the day and hour when 
 he would come to ' The Three Birches,' and if he
 
 RETRIBUTION 375 
 
 would come from the station across the meadow- 
 land. I wondered how I could learn these things. 
 I must not be caught watching, and I could not 
 trust Giles. 
 
 " Sometimes I think I must, at that time, have 
 been almost beside myself. Then came the 
 plunge from the saddle. While I lay out there 
 in the storm, pinned so securely beneath the 
 tree that I could not free myself, I could only lie 
 there and think. 
 
 "I did think! 
 
 ' This is retribution ! ' I said. I knew suf- 
 fering such as I had been willing to inflict upon 
 another. Sylvia, there is one thing that I 
 want you to believe. I thought only of harm- 
 ing him, but not once while I was brooding and 
 jealous did it occur to me that in harming him 
 I should be grieving you. 
 
 !< I was selfish, cruel, contemptible. Sylvia, 
 I've suffered so much, and so regret all my harsh- 
 ness, my bitterness, that now, from my heart I 
 can truthfully say : * I am sorry,' and I want, 
 I crave your forgiveness. 
 
 ;< I wish you all happiness, and every good gift 
 that Heaven may send you, Sylvia, girl. I am 
 very tired now, I must rest, but before you go, 
 Sylvia, can you tell me I am forgiven? "
 
 376 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Gently she took the proffered hand, and a tear 
 fell softly upon it. 
 
 " I do, indeed, forgive you," she said earnestly. 
 
 He looked so weak, so unlike himself, it seemed 
 idle to express a hope of his recovery; but before 
 she could think of a comforting word to say, the 
 doctor entered, and she went out into the hall, the 
 housekeeper following her to the door. 
 
 ' The doctor said he oughtn't ter have had any 
 callers," she said, in a loud whisper, " but I told 
 him he made Giles send for yer, an' he says, says 
 he: 
 
 " ' Don't let any one else in ter talk ter him 'til 
 I say so.' '
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 WHEN LONGING TRIUMPHED 
 
 SYLVIA breathed a sigh of relief when she 
 was once more out on the road, and walk- 
 ing briskly away from the Elmore place. 
 She felt as if she had just awakened from an un- 
 pleasant dream. Pity had driven fear from her 
 heart when she had entered the sick man's room, 
 but with pity had come a sense of deep depression. 
 The sick man had made his confession, had hum- 
 bly begged for forgiveness, and she had felt, as 
 she looked down at his pale face, his earnest eyes, 
 that but a few days of life were left for him. It 
 had been a dreadful thing to see a man so changed, 
 so weakened, especially when the man had been 
 so rugged a specimen of humanity. 
 
 Again she paused on the bridge, and looked 
 down into the rippling stream. 
 
 An hour earlier she had stood thus, filled with 
 dread of the interview. 
 
 Now, as she watched the amber sunlight danc- 
 ing far below the surface on the bed of the stream, 
 a strange feeling of apprehension, a dread of 
 
 377
 
 378 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the approaching date, that hitherto had held 
 for her a promise of happiness, came over her. 
 Why did she shiver? She was not cold. 
 
 There were two reasons for a dread of the long- 
 anticipated day. 
 
 The first, and less important, was the opening 
 of that closed door, on the other side of which 
 lay that silent, darkened room, and the secret that 
 it held. 
 
 The second, upon which her loving heart dwelt 
 with increasing anxiety, was the question if, when 
 that day arrived, Jack, so long silent, would come 
 to her. 
 
 No word had yet come in reply to either of the 
 two letters that she had sent, the first retracting 
 her earlier statement that he must refrain from 
 coming to " The Three Birches," lest he be 
 tempted to beg her to relinquish her determination 
 to remain at the old house for the prescribed time. 
 She had felt that for the short time remaining, she 
 could withstand his pleading, and she had written 
 lovingly, tenderly. 
 
 The second, when longing for him, had put 
 pride to flight, and she had begged him to come 
 to her. 
 
 That, too, had been ignored, and anger had 
 forced her pride to assert itself.
 
 LONGING TRIUMPHED 379 
 
 A long time she stood leaning upon the railing, 
 still looking down, apparently lost in thought. 
 When she turned toward " The Three Birches," 
 there was a look of resolution in the clear eyes 
 that told of a new view of some vexed question. 
 Her step was lighter. There was burning color in 
 each cheek, and she seemed full of suppressed ex- 
 citement as if she had found a new way out of an 
 old difficulty. 
 
 Aunt Zilla had gone to the store, and on the 
 table in the living-room she had left a little note, 
 saying that she had thought of some things that 
 were needed in the house, and had gone over to 
 the " square " to get them. 
 
 Sylvia hurried to her room, and soon at her 
 desk was writing, writing, the pen seeming fairly 
 to fly over the paper. 
 
 The first letter was soon written, and enclosed 
 in its envelope, carefully addressed, and a stamp 
 affixed. 
 
 The second epistle was evidently written with 
 more care. Often she paused, a tender light in 
 her eyes ; then again she would bend over the page, 
 and, for a time, the scratching of the pen would 
 appear to be endeavoring to outdo the ticking of 
 the little clock on the top of the desk. 
 
 It was a long letter, but, when she carefully read
 
 380 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 it over, it was apparently to her liking, for she 
 touched it lightly with her lips, a lingering caress; 
 then placed it in its envelope, saw that the address 
 was correct, put a stamp upon it, and tucked it 
 into her girdle. 
 
 With the other letter in her hand, she went 
 down to the hall. On the lower stair she paused, 
 then retracing her steps, she opened both letters, 
 and laid them upon the desk before her. 
 
 She had a nervous fear that she had written in 
 haste, and that consequently the letter to her 
 lawyer might have been more concisely expressed. 
 Far greater was her anxiety regarding the letter to 
 Jack. She must read it again. 
 
 His letter should be so written that whether 
 angry, or coldly indifferent, he would feel com- 
 pelled, for the sake of the love that had been, 
 to come to her no, that could not be done. 
 She knew that no letter could actually compel an 
 angry man, or a coldly indifferent man, to do this 
 or that. 
 
 But if neither angry, nor cold, only deeply 
 grieved, what then? 
 
 Impatient of these and other tormenting ques- 
 tions that vexed her tired brain, she sat down to 
 carefully read the letters:
 
 LONGING TRIUMPHED 381 
 
 " To the Honorable John Erl'ington: 
 
 "DEAR FRIEND AND COUNSELOR: I remem- 
 ber, when I was about to take up my residence in 
 the old house at Blossomville, you spoke of the 
 closed room, the door of which had been securely 
 fastened, some time prior to the death of my aunt. 
 At the time, you strongly advised me to have it 
 opened. You told me that many superstitious 
 residents of the village had circulated tales re- 
 garding it, such tales being well calculated to an- 
 noy me. You believed that listening to such gos- 
 sip, together with constantly passing that door, 
 would, or at least might, tend to make me very 
 nervous. 
 
 " I thought of all that you had said. I knew 
 if, when that door was opened, there lay revealed 
 nothing that should have been dreaded, I should 
 then be very glad that I had listened to you. If, 
 on the other hand, anything was disclosed that 
 could increase my dread of the place, then would 
 it be impossible for me to remain there. I have 
 now reached a point, however, when each time that 
 I pass that closed door it is harder than the time 
 before. 
 
 " Come and open it. I cannot longer endure 
 it ! You promised to come, if at any time I should 
 need you, to unbar the secret behind that great 
 oak door. I need you, and even if I were dis- 
 posed to take a resident into my confidence, I do 
 not believe there dwells in Blossomville a man 
 with sufficient courage to draw a single nail from 
 its place.
 
 382 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 " Trusting that it may be possible for you to 
 come at once, I am, 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " SYLVIA DURANT." 
 
 As if this letter met with her approval, she 
 folded it, again addressed an envelope, and sealed 
 it. Then from her girdle she took the other let- 
 ter, and as she opened it, she drew a long breath 
 that was half a sigh : 
 
 " JACK, DEAR JACK: 
 
 "What does your silence mean? You who 
 have always been so gentle with me, so consider- 
 ate, now leave my letters unanswered, and the 
 words for which my heart longs, unspoken. 
 
 ' Yet I write thus more in wonder than re- 
 proof. Were you other than my Jack, manly, 
 and brave, and true, I would not ask for a letter 
 now. I would let the silence be as long as it might 
 please you to have it. 
 
 " But, dearest, you were never a creature of 
 moods. You were always the same, my Jack, so 
 that I now am wondering if something of which 
 I am unaware has caused you to remain away 
 from me, even after twice being urged to come. 
 June first is near at hand, and on that day, because 
 of the great bond of true love that has bound us, a 
 blessed bondage that holds me loyal to you, I now 
 ask you to be here. Come, and help me to re- 
 joice that I have been given strength to endure 
 existence here. When you come, and oh, I be- 
 lieve you will, I will tell you the one great reason
 
 LONGING TRIUMPHED 383 
 
 that helped me to remain here, even when I felt 
 my courage waning. 
 
 ' Words can not express my longing to see you, 
 Jack, to have you with me once more. Jack, dear, 
 I believe I have lost all the pride I ever possessed, 
 for now, at the end of my letter I plead, aye, Jack, 
 
 I beg of you to come. 
 
 Always your own, 
 
 " SYLVIA." 
 
 " If I write it differently, it may not be more 
 appealing," she said, and for a moment she sat 
 irresolute, thinking. Then she sprang to her feet. 
 
 " I'll not change it! No, no, I can not change 
 it I " she cried, and folding the letter, she pressed 
 it to her lips an instant; then placing it in an en- 
 velope, she addressed it, and hurried down the 
 stairs. Half-way on the road she met Aunt Zilla. 
 
 ' Why, Sylvia ! Ye've got home an' are 
 startin' out again? " she queried. " Was the call 
 tur'ble tryin'? Was ye lonesome, Sylvia? " 
 
 " I'll tell you all about the call when I come 
 back," Sylvia replied, " but just now I'm going to 
 mail two letters that I've just written." 
 
 " All right. I'll walk along sorter slow, an' 
 p'raps ye'll ketch up with me, on yer way back," 
 Aunt Zilla replied. 
 
 She turned to look after the graceful figure. 
 
 " / mailed a letter, too," she said, " but I guess 
 I'd better not tell ye, dear."
 
 CHAPTER XLVII 
 
 SURRENDER 
 
 THE day had been an unusually trying one, 
 and every one connected with the firm of 
 Stanwood & Broadbent, from old Marcus 
 Stanwood, himself down to the office boy, was 
 glad when closing time came. 
 
 Business had been rushing; no one had ever 
 thought of being patient, no one but Jack, but his 
 power of endurance seemed limitless. 
 
 The stenographers had made irritating blun- 
 ders; the office boy had deliberately admitted a 
 man whom Marcus Stanwood never wished to 
 see, and the old man had all but " foamed at the 
 mouth." 
 
 An accountant had lost her purse, and unwisely 
 presuming to mention the fact to her employer, 
 he had roared: 
 
 " Well, do you expect me to run out and look 
 for it?" 
 
 One luckless wight, whose desk was near the 
 private office, carelessly dropped a paperweight, 
 
 384
 
 SURRENDER 385 
 
 whereupon the door had opened with a bang, and 
 this cheering remark had been shouted forth: 
 
 " If this infernal racket isn't stopped at once, 
 I'll discharge every one of you! " 
 
 An hour before closing, things were running a 
 bit smoother, but every one was tired; and as 
 he hurried along the street toward the hotel Jack 
 felt the effect of an unusually trying day. 
 
 The longing for Sylvia was daily becoming 
 harder to endure. 
 
 The thought that she was pledged to another 
 was unbearable, and to keep his mind from dwell- 
 ing upon it he had been working harder than ever 
 before. 
 
 Just as he was leaving the office, the postman 
 had put two letters into his hand, and without 
 looking at them, he had thrust them into his 
 pocket. 
 
 After dinner, he went to his room, slipped into 
 a lounging coat, removed his right shoe and gaiter, 
 substituting a low pump. Before changing the 
 other shoe, he suddenly thought of the letters. 
 
 He went over to the chair on which his coat 
 was lying, took them from the pocket, and tossed 
 them upon the desk, where they landed, face down- 
 ward. 
 
 He had intended to smoke while reading them,
 
 386 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 but, for the moment, could not remember where 
 he had laid his cigar case, so picked up the envelope 
 nearest to his hand, and stared at the unfamiliar 
 writing. 
 
 He opened it, and expression of amazement 
 overspread his fine face. 
 
 " DEAR MR. JACK STANWOOD: 
 
 " I don't think Sylvia can hold out 'til June first 
 'thout you come. Not that she's sick. She ain't, 
 but she ain't bright and cheery like herself. 
 
 " They is one person here that has pestered her 
 perpetooal, but I guess he understands now that 
 Sylvia can't noways abide him. 
 
 " He stays away now, part 'cause he knows he 
 might as well, an' part 'cause he's flat on his back, 
 hevin' endured some jolt off'n his horse. Ye must 
 know the time fer waitin' is 'bout up, an' when ye 
 know Sylvia's reason fer stayin' here, ye'll feel 
 some different than ye hev. I declare, I hope ye'll 
 come soon, fer she looks so I'm worried. 
 ' Yours to command, 
 
 " DRUSILLA BOND." 
 
 The quaint letter bore neither date, nor the 
 writer's address, and for a second Jack looked 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Drusilla Bond? " he said; then: " Aunt Zilla! 
 The dear, good soul 1 She surely means well, but 
 I wonder if " 
 
 A bit of hope, a ray of light
 
 SURRENDER 387 
 
 He picked up the second letter. Ah, the fami- 
 liar hand! 
 
 " From Sylvia ! " burst from his lips, as his 
 nervous fingers tore open the envelope. In eager 
 haste he read her earnest, tender pleading. 
 
 "Thank God!" he cried, "Sylvia is, and al- 
 ways has been, mine ! " 
 
 Three times he read the precious letter that 
 had raised him from wretched doubting to great- 
 est happiness. Then he thrust it into his breast 
 pocket, and, as if he had not a moment to spare, 
 commenced tossing things into his suit-case. So 
 engrossed was he that he did not hear Trefton 
 enter. 
 
 "Hello! What's up?" 
 
 Jack turned, and replied, " Just trying to make 
 a train that I must get, that's all." 
 
 ' 'Pon my soul, Jack, you do appear to be 
 rushing matters. Looks 's though you needed 
 help when you chuck your hair-brush in with your 
 ties. 
 
 " Say ! Do you know you're wearing shoes 
 that are not mates? One patent pump, and one 
 boot with a gaiter won't do. Makes you look a 
 trifle loony. 
 
 " Say, Jack! Are you half-mad? You've not 
 a word for yours truly, but you keep on stuff-
 
 388 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 ing that infernal suit-case. It'll have an at- 
 tack of acute indigestion if you're not careful. 
 For Heaven's sake, Jack, stop long enough to catch 
 your breath, and swap this boot and gaiter for 
 that pump ! Wherever you're going, I'd like you 
 to land looking sane! " 
 
 Jack laughed, and it was the happy, care-free 
 laugh Trefton had not heard for a year. 
 
 " Donald, I'm off to see the best girl in the 
 world. Wish me joy, if you can. I know your 
 views and mine differ, but that has never marred 
 our friendship. 
 
 " I've not been very good company the last few 
 months, but matters that worried me have righted 
 themselves, and when I return you may have to 
 work as hard to keep me circumspect as you have 
 in your effort to cheer me." 
 
 Jack caught up the suit-case, and was off. 
 " Don't know just what day I'll be back, Donald. 
 See you soon 's I return," he said. 
 
 The elevator man was half way down the hall 
 talking to a crony, and Jack rushed for the stair- 
 way, Trefton closely following. 
 
 A crowd of homeward bound pedestrians jostled 
 each other on the sidewalk, and in the throng Jack 
 disappeared, having hailed a taxi-cab that had just 
 drawn up at the curb.
 
 SURRENDER 389 
 
 Trefton sprang into a doorway, and mounting 
 its single step, peered over the heads of those who 
 had rushed between Jack and himself. 
 
 "No use!" he ejaculated. "Gone off half- 
 cracked just as he did once before, and that time 
 it was a woman, too ! Knowing Jack as well as 
 I do, it's safe to bet it's the same woman! He's 
 true as steel ! Discouraging, just when I thought 
 I'd converted him to the faith of the ' Brother- 
 hood of Bachelors ' ! " 
 
 It was a long walk back to his rooms, and when 
 he had let himself in, he slowly removed his 
 gloves, laid them with his hat on the desk, threw 
 his coat on a chair, and sat down on a low, 
 cushioned window-seat to think matters over. 
 After a time he spoke, hardly above a whisper: 
 " That's the third friend and chum I've lost, and 
 in each case it was a woman that did it. All 
 three married ! Last season I thought, for a time, 
 that Jack was going the same way, but for months 
 he has been so awful quiet that I believed he was 
 safe, and here he's off somewhere to-night, the 
 Lord only knows where, and acting as loony as 
 either of the others did ! " 
 
 He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and 
 fell to thinking. 
 
 He had been sitting an hour thus, when sud-
 
 390 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 denly he rose and strode across the room to the 
 bureau. 
 
 " You look just as you feel," he remarked to 
 the reflection. " Just as you feel" he repeated, 
 " and this keeping up a perpetual bluff to convince 
 the other fellows that you don't care for girls, 
 and that you enjoy single-blessedness is hard 
 work." 
 
 Then a grim smile curved his lips. 
 
 " Maybe she'd ' back down,' if I gave her the 
 chance. I said I'd hold out till doomsday, but 
 what's the use?" 
 
 He stood a moment irresolute. It would be 
 maddening, yes, and humiliating to appear at her 
 house, only to be informed that she was " not at 
 home." 
 
 He sat down at the desk and took the telephone 
 as a mediator. 
 
 His " remarks " regarding the slowness, and 
 dilatory methods of all employees of telephone 
 companies, this one in particular, were sharp and 
 to the point. 
 
 At last he was rewarded. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 "Ah! "under his breath. 
 
 " I'd like to talk with Miss Ardmore." 
 
 " Yes."
 
 SURRENDER 391 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, this is Miss Ardmore speaking? " 
 
 " Well this is Mr. Trefton." 
 
 " Yes, it's Donald Trefton. You never used 
 to bother about using the entire name. Donald 
 used to do nicely, and, what? Oh, I said Miss 
 Ardmore. Well, Fanny, if you'll be at home this 
 evening, and would like to see me, I'll come over, 
 and Say, what's to prevent calling you all the 
 things I used to call you? What? You'll be 
 glad to see me? Fanny, the months, and weeks, 
 and days since I last was with you have been, 
 It's imposible to tell you over the 'phone. I'll 
 tell you later when I'm with you. And Fanny ! 
 I'll not be keeping you from some pleasure you'd 
 planned to enjoy? Dear, do you mean that? 
 Then look for me to-night! " 
 
 He hung up the receiver. 
 
 " There, that's attended to. I've ' backed 
 down,' or the same thing. ' I spoke first,' as the 
 kiddies say, but Fanny was a regular trump. No 
 foolish pride or stubborn will in Fanny. Act- 
 ually said she could hardly wait for me to come ! " 
 
 Oh, the glad note in his voice ! It was early 
 yet, but in his present state of mind, he could not 
 sit quietly down to read the paper. Instead he 
 paced the floor for a time, thinking of the eager
 
 392 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 little catch in Fanny's voice, of her sweet relent- 
 ing. His eyes were alight with the new, or rather 
 the return of the old, happiness. His firm lips had 
 lost their tight set line, and a faint smile parted 
 them. Happening to catch sight of himself in 
 the mirror, he paused before it. 
 
 " Say, my friend ! You've grown five years 
 younger since you looked out at me a short time 
 ago, and all because of the sound of a beloved 
 voice over the 'phone. At the same rate of re- 
 juvenation, I ought to look like a mere lad when 
 I return from the Ardmore home to-night. 
 
 " Wonder if Jack will chaff me about the 
 ' Brotherhood of Bachelors.' Guess not! 
 
 " Under the circumstances, he can't afford to ! "
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 
 
 A LIBERAL tip in the driver's hand had 
 caused him to make all possible speed to- 
 ward the station, but whenever traffic 
 choked the way, and the taxi was forced to pause, 
 Jack anxiously scanned his watch, for well he knew 
 that Blossomville boasted but two trains daily. If 
 he missed the evening train, he would be forced 
 to wait until the morrow, and he was in no mood 
 for waiting. He had had enough of waiting. 
 
 " Only twelve minutes more and going at a 
 snail's pace! " he growled. 
 
 Again the taxi stopped. 
 
 " Say, beat it! " Jack roared. 
 
 "Aw! Can't ye see th' mob?" retorted the 
 disgusted driver. 
 
 ' Well, drive over or under it, I don't care 
 which, but make that train for me and you'll get 
 another tip. See?" 
 
 The driver " saw." A tip often excels the skill 
 of an oculist. 
 
 393
 
 394 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Arrived at the station, Jack thrust a bill into 
 the fellow's hand, muttered: " No change," and 
 bolted for the train. 
 
 " Them crazy loon'tics allus pays well," the 
 driver remarked, as he pocketed the bill; then 
 turned his attention to securing another passenger. 
 
 Jack made his way through the crowded sta- 
 tion and boarded the train just as it was about 
 to start. 
 
 There were plenty of vacant seats, and he 
 slipped into one, thankful that he was already 
 speeding over the rails. The evening paper lay 
 on the seat next the one in which he sat. What 
 was that headline? 
 
 He saw the name " Sylvia," and, with a quick- 
 ened pulse, leaned to read. 
 
 " Only a yacht christened," he whispered, and 
 he read no further. There was but one Sylvia 
 for him, and she had said that she longed to see 
 him! 
 
 " And I'll soon be with her," he thought. 
 
 He had taken a rear seat, and now, for the 
 first time, he looked ahead at the other passen- 
 gers. There were but five beside himself. 
 
 Across the aisle a young man was earnestly talk- 
 ing to the girl beside him. Jack did not notice the 
 man, but the girl's face he could plainly see. He
 
 WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 395 
 
 thought her ordinary. He wondered how any 
 fellow could be interested in a girl like that. How 
 inferior she was to Sylvia ! 
 
 Then he remembered that every girl could not 
 look like Sylvia, and he laughed softly. Sylvia 
 was his, and there was no one like Sylvia ! 
 
 Immediately in front of the pair that he had 
 been watching sat two big women who had been 
 conversing in whispers, but gathering courage, as 
 the trip progressed, were now loudly talking. 
 
 " I told her not to take complexion wafers if 
 she had bought 'em. ' You'd 'nough sight better 
 throw 'em away, an' lose yer money,' says I, ' than 
 pizen yer system.' ' 
 
 " And did she take 'em? " eagerly inquired the 
 big chemical blonde. 
 
 " Did she ? Of course she did. She'd take 
 cy'nde er potass'um ef she'd paid good money fer 
 it ! Oh, I tell ye, she's a reg'lar " 
 
 A train-man entered and ended the conversation 
 by loudly bawling: 
 
 " All passengers leave this car at next station, 
 and take fust train that 'rives. This train goes 
 no farther! " 
 
 The two big women pried their bulky forms 
 from their seats, and the blonde made for the 
 luckless train-man.
 
 396 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" she demanded. "Why 
 do we git off at the next station? This train, 
 don't never stop 'fore we 'rive at Bantam- 
 ville." 
 
 " Th' ain't no such station," growled the man. 
 
 He backed toward the door, but the big woman 
 clutched his sleeve. 
 
 "Ain't no such station?" she asked with fine 
 scorn. " That's the place I come from! " 
 
 " Ye come f'm Bantamville ! " he cried. " Wai, 
 ye must 'a ' looked out o' place there," and wrig- 
 gling from her grasp, he made a rush for the 
 door, and escaped. 
 
 The train was already slowing down, and the 
 passengers made haste to gather up their belong- 
 ings. There had been an accident on the road, the 
 conductor said, as they left the train a minor 
 accident, but sufficient to delay traffic for a short 
 time. Another train would pick them up a bit 
 later. 
 
 The two big women lunged toward the bench 
 by the station door, landed safely upon it, and 
 resumed their interrupted confab. 
 
 The lanky youth and neutral-tinted girl left the 
 platform, intent upon enjoying a stroll while await- 
 ing the arrival of the train. 
 
 A sedate, elderly man, tall and spare, stood at
 
 WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 397 
 
 the far end of the platform, apparently in a brown 
 study. 
 
 Jack, pacing restlessly up and down, wondered 
 how any live man could stand so long in one spot, 
 holding the same pose, and, for all one could tell, 
 thinking the same thought. 
 
 He remembered a gray pelican that he had once 
 seen in the park, standing as motionless as that 
 thin gray-clad man. He thought the appearance 
 of man and bird wonderfully like. 
 
 The simile was not so bad. 
 
 The Honorable John Erlington could be as 
 silent and motionless as the big bird, but those 
 who best knew him were well aware that, active 
 or tranquil, his eyes were ever watchful. When 
 he did move, it was with a carefully planned pur- 
 pose, and like the pelican, with unerring skill, he 
 snatched the prize for which he had been watching. 
 
 Just now his mind was occupied with thoughts 
 of Sylvia, of the lonely house, of her courage in 
 remaining there. 
 
 " A wonderfully brave girl," he muttered. 
 ' Nine out of ten would have knuckled to a rich 
 relative like Mrs. Van Horn, and have married 
 any one that she suggested, rather than lose the 
 Van Horn millions. Ah, but a surprise awaits 
 Sylvia Durant! "
 
 398 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Jack had become weary of tramping up and 
 down the platform ; the lanky youth and his lassie 
 had returned from their stroll; the two stout 
 women, having discussed all of their mutual ac- 
 quaintances, sat bored and listless, no other sub- 
 ject having presented itself. 
 
 Would the train never come? 
 
 At the very moment when the would-be travel- 
 ers had begun to feel that patience had ceased to 
 be a virtue, a headlight peeped around the bend, 
 and soon the train had drawn up at the little sta- 
 tion, and the six occupants of the platform had 
 clambered aboard, each breathing a sigh of relief 
 that once more he was on his way. 
 
 Time again passed wearily. 
 
 It was dawn when the train-man thrust his head 
 in at the open door to shout: " Blossomville ! 
 Blossomville ! " 
 
 Only two left the train, Jack Stanwood and the 
 old lawyer. The tall, spare figure headed at once 
 for the tavern in the square. Jack stood at the 
 roadside, and looked across the dew-laden fields 
 and meadows. He had taken a short cut across 
 those very meadows earlier in the year because 
 thus he could sooner reach the house. Now, how- 
 ever, he had arrived at the little station at Blos- 
 somville at an hour so early that he believed Sylvia
 
 WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 399 
 
 to be still asleep and dreaming. Even industrious 
 Aunt Zilla would hardly be astir. 
 
 The road would be a longer route, and by 
 desperate restraint upon his eagerness he could 
 force himself to walk slowly. He longed to see 
 " The Three Birches " with its vine wreathed 
 porch and swinging sign. 
 
 And Sylvia had written ; had urged him to come ! 
 How the thought warmed his heart and set it beat- 
 ing. Unconsciously his pace quickened. He 
 could walk around the old house, as if he were on 
 guard. He could look to where the friendly 
 trumpet-vine climbed upward to her window, and, 
 with loving tendrils, clung to the blind, its branches 
 dancing in the soft breeze, and peeping in. 
 
 The road curved, and there above the trees was 
 a spiral of smoke, blue and pearly in the morning 
 light. Aunt Zilla, the energetic, was already " up 
 and doing." A bit nearer, and he would see the 
 old garden. Ah, there it was the clump of 
 white birches standing out against the dark forest 
 trees as if proclaiming: 
 
 " For us the old house was named ! " 
 
 The untrimmed shrubbery overhung the sag- 
 ging fence, the locust trees swung their scented clus- 
 ters, but above the riot of foliage rose the roof of 
 the old house, moss grown, yet dominant.
 
 400 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 For a moment Jack looked at the curling smoke ; 
 then at that upper window that he knew to be 
 hers. If only she would look out upon the gar- 
 den! He would catch a glimpse of the sweet 
 face, the bright hair, and he would call to her. 
 No, that might startle her, it was yet so early, but 
 if she 
 
 Softly he heard the well-loved voice singing the 
 song that had always been his favorite: 
 
 " Blue the sky, bright the flowers, 
 
 Sunshine on the lea, 
 Earth seems fair because to-day 
 My love will come to me." 
 
 She was walking slowly along the path, toward 
 the gate; he could see the white gown through 
 the shrubbery. He could wait no longer. 
 
 " Sylvia ! " he cried, hurrying forward. 
 
 He saw her run down the path, push the gate 
 open, and rush toward him, her arms extended. 
 Her face was radiant, but the great joy, the glad 
 surprise of his early coming, sent a sudden weak- 
 ness over her. She reeled, and would have fallen 
 but for the strong arms that caught her, and held 
 her close. 
 
 " Darling," he whispered, as he laid his lips 
 to hers. 
 
 " Jack, my Jack," she murmured, clinging to
 
 WHEN DREAMS CAME TRUE 401 
 
 him, her soft eyes looking up at him as if to make 
 sure that this was not a dream lover. 
 
 Long they stood thus beneath the over-arching 
 trees, her head against his breast, his arms about 
 her. They were whispering those things which 
 all lovers whisper, for although no living being 
 was in sight their confidences were too sweet, too 
 sacred to be shared even with the vagrant breeze. 
 Later they strolled through the old garden, and 
 the tangle of weeds and tall flowering shrubs that 
 had seemed so lonely now appeared an enchant- 
 ing spot. 
 
 Her lover, her Jack walked close beside her, 
 and that made all the difference in the world ! 
 
 Aunt Zilla, from the kitchen window, espied 
 them, and noting their happiness, addressed a re- 
 mark to the range. 
 
 " Guess I may 's well shet off the fire, an' delay 
 breakfast a bit. No two people in such a 
 heavenly state as that could come right down ter 
 eatin'. I'll make the descent gradooal. Some 
 time this forenoon they may begin ter reelize 
 they're hungry, 'tho' I ain't sure! Lor' me! I 
 s'pose I acted jest like that when Jehiel Bond was 
 a-courtin' me ! " 
 
 The underbrush at the side of the road shook 
 as if some one or something were crawling along
 
 402 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 the ground, and the wriggling foliage showed that 
 the object, whatever it might be, was making rapid 
 headway. Not until it reached a place far from 
 the old house did it venture to come forth. 
 
 There, after peering through the bushes, and 
 learning that no one was in sight, it arose stiffly, 
 and looked back along the road. It was Josh 
 Lumley. 
 
 " Who in time was that? " he inquired of the 
 landscape, which, with its usual reticence, made 
 no reply. " Here I've spent days an' days 
 a-watchin', but I ain't never seen that feller. No- 
 body else has, nuther," he added with prodigal 
 use of negatives. 
 
 " Makes me mad ter think myself so all-fired 
 'cute an' then find somethin' has been goin' on right 
 under my nose, an' I never seen it! Ef the gal 
 feels like that toward that feller, no wonder the 
 Squire come out short. A fine gal ain't dividin' 
 that sort o' feelin' 'mongst num'rous friends. 
 She squanders it all on one lucky chap ! Wai, I 
 hope he's worthy. That's all I've got ter say 
 'bout it, fer she's fit fer a prince, as all Blossom- 
 ville would say! "
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 REVEALED 
 
 AN hour later, having partaken of an exceed- 
 ingly light breakfast, which they had eaten 
 for the sole purpose of not offending Aunt 
 Zilla, they left the dining-room, going out into 
 the hall there to enjoy the fresh breeze that 
 had come up with the sun. 
 
 Laddie, having been properly introduced, had 
 gravely offered his paw, evidently accepting Jack 
 as a friend because Sylvia seemed to wish it. 
 
 Up and down the hall he stalked beside Sylvia, 
 glancing around her at Jack, as if wondering why 
 this man occupied her attention to the exclusion 
 of himself. 
 
 The great door stood open, and John Erlington 
 entered, before either had heard his approach. 
 
 " Well, well, Miss Sylvia, right glad am I to 
 see you looking so cheerful this morning. You 
 are light-hearted because so soon you will be free 
 to leave the old house." 
 
 ' The freedom will be sweet," Sylvia said, " and 
 403
 
 404 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Mr. Erlington, this is Mr. Stanwood, whose story 
 and mine were confided to you some time ago. 
 Jack, Mr. Erlington was my Aunt Sylvia's attor- 
 ney. He has been my counselor and now will be 
 our advisor and friend." 
 
 " Indeed I will, and gladly," the old lawyer 
 responded. 
 
 " And we shall need you, I am sure," Jack said 
 cordially. 
 
 " I have come, at your request, to open the 
 closed door. At one time, your aunt vaguely 
 hinted to me that curios of great value were stored 
 there, and that she spent much of her time there. 
 I never saw that room, so that I am as much in 
 the dark as you are as to what lies concealed 
 there. Do you wish me first to enter, learn its 
 secret and then summon you? " 
 
 Closely he regarded Sylvia as he asked the 
 question. 
 
 " Last night I would have begged you to do 
 that, but now, with Jack beside me, I'll not fear," 
 she said. 
 
 Aunt Zilla now joined them, and was surprised 
 to find that the lawyer's bag held some well-chosen 
 tools brought for the occasion. 
 
 u Let me help you, sir," Jack said, stepping for- 
 ward, and between them they managed to draw
 
 REVEALED 405 
 
 the great nails that had been driven into the solid 
 oak. 
 
 Each time the door was shaken with their 
 efforts, groans, such as had terrified Sylvia, came 
 from behind its oaken paneling. 
 
 Laddie, lying near, his head upon his paws, 
 uttered a low, answering growl. 
 
 "What can it be?" whispered Sylvia, leaning 
 heavily upon the arm of the great hall chair upon 
 which she had sunk. 
 
 Aunt Zilla's curiosity was great, but her fear 
 was greater, and she fled to the rear of the house 
 on pretense of finishing some neglected task. 
 
 " Sylvia 's safe with them two men. Ef she 
 was extry scaret, they'd be so oc'pied comfortin' 
 her, they wouldn't even know 'f I fell inter a reg- 
 'lar spasm, yes, an' flat on the floor, too. Beauty 
 's a gret thing fer raisin' valor. Tis so, fer a 
 fact ! " She smiled grimly. She heard them still 
 struggling to open the door. 
 
 At last the nails were removed. The great 
 bolts creaked as John Erlington withdrew them. 
 The key grated in the rusty lock. Jack turned 
 to Sylvia, and seeing her pallor, went to her, drew 
 her close, and whispered: " Courage, dear, I'll 
 enter with you." 
 
 Still the key resisted, then suddenly it turned,
 
 406 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 but the sagging door was obstinate, yielding only 
 when John Erlington, with a quick lunge, threw 
 his weight against it. 
 
 A breath of mold and dampness swept out from 
 that room, and as he lighted the candles in the 
 sconces a strange, fantastic arrangement of ob- 
 jects and curios glittered in the flickering light. 
 He had groped his way in the darkness, but a 
 lighted match had revealed sconces well up on 
 the wall near which he was standing. 
 
 Sylvia, clinging to her lover, looked about her, 
 wide eyed, and awed. Something akin to that 
 which she had felt, upon first seeing the charred 
 logs, the guttered candle, and the open book, on 
 that first day, crept over her, and nothing seemed 
 real save the strong arm about her. 
 
 The shutters were still on the windows, the light 
 from the porch doorway too distant to throw a 
 ray into that lonely room. The wavering light 
 from the candles caused all projecting objects to 
 throw long, hobgoblin shadows upon the walls. 
 Hangings of dark smoke-gray silk made a dismal 
 background for an array of Japanese swords in 
 cunningly lacquered scabbards, over which rep- 
 tiles crawled. 
 
 Hideous masks hung with the swords. Masks 
 with ivory horns set in stiff, wiry hair. Frowning
 
 REVEALED 407 
 
 masks, with bulging, bloodshot eyes. Grinning, 
 demon-like masks, with huge teeth and red, pro- 
 truding tongues. 
 
 It was the lawyer who first broke the silence ! 
 " Small wonder that your aunt, and godmother, 
 spending the greater part of each day in this 
 room, became peculiar! " 
 
 He turned as he spoke, and a bronze figure in 
 a sort of shrine attracted his attention. 
 
 It was evidently an idol, its robes lacquered red, 
 its shrine covered with wonderful designs in 
 mother-of-pearl. 
 
 He laid his hand upon the base of the throne, 
 and a hollow groan came apparently from the 
 mouth of the figure. Its ugly head was moving 
 slowly up and down. Not one of the hideous 
 masks was as horrible as the face of that idol. 
 
 Sylvia seemed unable to turn her gaze from 
 the fearful face. 
 
 " Is it from that frightful figure that those 
 dreadful groans come? How can it be? How 
 could a bronze idol utter " 
 
 ' Its head is hung in some manner, so that what- 
 ever jars the house, if ever so slightly, sets it nod- 
 ding, and the groaning is really the sound of 
 the metal neck grating upon the metal body. 
 Whether it was accident or design that hung the
 
 408 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 head so as to make it seem to utter fearful sounds 
 I do not know," John Erlington said. " Of one 
 thing I am certain: Few girls, however deter- 
 mined, would have remained here, and this dear 
 girl would never have endured the ordeal for her 
 own profit. It was wholly for you, Mr. Stan- 
 wood, and I " 
 
 " For me! " interrupted Jack. " Why, sir, I 
 have begged her to give it up." 
 
 " Jack, Jack! It was, it was for you, dear, that 
 I came here. Aunt Daphne vowed to disinherit 
 me, because I would not marry the man whom she 
 chose for me, and at the same time she said that 
 I would be no help-meet, only a hindrance, a 
 mill-stone around your neck, dear, if I came to 
 you empty handed. 
 
 " I did not tell you that thirty thousand dollars 
 goes with this old house, and there is other prop- 
 erty in New York. Do you yet know, Mr. Erl- 
 ington, what that is worth? It won't be a for- 
 tune, but oh, it is worth while ! " 
 
 " Be a bit careful about that statement, my 
 dear," he said, his small gray eyes twinkling, " for 
 at the present time the New York property shows 
 a valuation of nearly a quarter of a million, and 
 there is yet a parcel of real estate, the value of 
 which we have yet to determine."
 
 REVEALED 409 
 
 For a moment Sylvia stood as if stunned by the 
 knowledge that she had reaped so rich a reward 
 for her courage and endurance. Then like a 
 flash she turned to Jack, her eyes like stars. 
 
 "Oh, Jack!" she cried, "Aunt Daphne can't 
 call me ' empty-handed ' now, and best of all, she 
 knows that you loved me when you thought I had 
 no possessions." 
 
 " Sylvia, my Sylvia, I did indeed," Jack said 
 earnestly. 
 
 " I congratulate you both," the lawyer said, 
 " and I want to tell you that I have found it very 
 hard during this long year faithfully to live up 
 to the instructions given me in a letter written 
 by Mrs. Sylvia Durant. In it she stated that you 
 might, if you wished, open this room at any time, 
 or wait until the year was ended, but on one thing 
 she was firm. 
 
 " She insisted that I test your bravery by encour- 
 aging you to remain here, and that I keep the 
 secret as to the amount of your inheritance until 
 within a few days of the time that you were to 
 receive it. 
 
 "These strange and hideous curios were some 
 that her husband had collected, and while she 
 abhorred them, she persisted in living with them 
 because the man whom she had dearly loved so
 
 410 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 valued them. This she told me, but she did not 
 tell what sort of objects formed the collection. 
 
 " Her grief, her loneliness, wore upon her, and 
 these hideous curios constantly before her made 
 the isolation harder to bear. She said and did 
 many strange things, among them her expressed 
 desire that you, Sylvia, used to a bright, gay ex- 
 istence, should spend a year in this house which, 
 she admitted, had made of her a more gloomy 
 woman than before her residence here. To do 
 her justice, I believe she thought that your Aunt 
 Daphne had made such a fashionable butterfly 
 of you, that the year of enforced quiet might really 
 prove beneficial." 
 
 " Ah ! " Sylvia, bending over a quaint table, 
 was eagerly reading from a sheet of paper placed 
 beneath the heavy plate glass top. Jack was at 
 her side in an instant, and reading the lines to 
 which she pointed. 
 
 Lawyer Erlington, adjusting his glasses, also 
 read: 
 
 " SYLVIA DEAR : 
 
 " For I believe your eyes will read this, I write 
 to tell you that I know of your secret engagement, 
 and approve your choice. I know, too, that my 
 sister intends to disinherit you. You will be 
 forced to come here to win what you believe to be 
 a pittance, because even that you will need.
 
 REVEALED 411 
 
 " I married for love. It is the only way. You 
 will do the same, therefore I have planned so that 
 you and the man of your choice, shall be care- 
 free. 
 
 " I have but one regret, and that has been tor- 
 ment. I abhorred these masks and the idol, and 
 made no secret of it. Therefore have I forced 
 myself to live with them, a sort of penance, be- 
 cause my aversion to his treasures grieved my 
 loved one. I can not write more. 
 
 " Good-by, and God bless you, are the last 
 words of your Aunt and godmother. 
 
 " SYLVIA DURANT." 
 
 Sylvia's eyes were wet, as she raised them; 
 Jack's had a suspicious moisture; while the old 
 lawyer, usually so calm, complained that flickering 
 candle light always made his eyes water. 
 
 The little table had stood in a far corner of 
 the room, and Sylvia, espying it, had gone to it to 
 examine its beauty, thus discovering the note ad- 
 dressed so tenderly to herself. 
 
 It was as a voice from the dead, and together 
 the three left the room, feeling as if old Sylvia 
 Durant had actually spoken. 
 
 June second dawned fair and sunny, as if to 
 make the last day at " The Three Birches " as 
 cheery as possible. They had brought only a few 
 personal belongings with them on that June day,
 
 412 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 a year ago, and now these articles were packed, 
 and Jack and Sylvia, Aunt Zilla and Laddie walked 
 decorously down the path. 
 
 Neither looked backward at the old house, for 
 while a legacy had been acquired by the sojourn 
 there, the memories connected with the place were 
 too sad to be dwelt upon. Therefore, with reso- 
 lute step Jack and Sylvia walked to the gate, Aunt 
 Zilla turned the key in the door, while Laddie 
 tugged at the leash. 
 
 John Erlington had made all arrangements for 
 them, and when they reached the little village 
 chapel, the old clergyman was there, as were Ezra 
 Wiley and his good wife Temperance, and gentle 
 Aunt Phyllis, all in their Sunday best. 
 
 The old lawyer had been a veritable " best 
 man." The simple, yet impressive ceremony was 
 soon over, the blessing pronounced, and the 
 Wileys had bidden the happy pair " God-speed," 
 the little party was leaving the church, when sud- 
 denly from the underbrush by the roadside sprang 
 a grotesque figure, voluminously draped in flow- 
 ered calico. 
 
 It was the prophet. 
 
 For weeks he had kept silence. Laddie had de- 
 stroyed his " mantle," and without a mantle he 
 believed himself unable to prophesy. From some
 
 REVEALED 413 
 
 unknown source he had acquired a new and gau- 
 dier drapery, and he felt that his power had been 
 restored. 
 
 Evidently his resplendent apparel had affected 
 his style of harangue, for with arms uplifted, and 
 a smile, broad if not radiant, he shouted: " Joy 
 ter ye 1 Joy 'thout limit ! The millennium is at 
 hand, an' love an' peace reigns ! " 
 
 Jack laughed, and flung some coins toward him. 
 The prophet touched his hat-brim and knelt to 
 gather up the offering. 
 
 His exaltation, though mighty, did not render 
 it impossible for him to stoop for the silver that 
 lay glistening on the road. 
 
 The train was at the station on scheduled time. 
 Laddie suffered the indignity of riding in the bag- 
 gage-car, checked, like the other baggage. He 
 had rode thus before with his first owner, and 
 fully believed that, at the end of the journey, he 
 would trot along once more beside Sylvia. The 
 plan, however, was for him to go with Aunt 
 Zilla to her little home, there to remain until Jack 
 and Sylvia were settled in their own home, where 
 he would be a welcome member of the household. 
 They were now bound for New York. Aunt Zilla 
 was to ride but a short distance with them, when 
 she must change cars, and go in another direction
 
 414 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 to reach her native town. Having always a des- 
 perate fear that not a moment could be wasted 
 in leaving a train, she rushed for the car door, be- 
 fore the brakeman could announce the station, 
 and racing along the platform to the baggage-car, 
 demanded the dog. 
 
 He bounded out upon the platform beside her, 
 looked for his beloved Sylvia, made a break for" 
 the already moving train, only to be ruthlessly 
 dragged back by a wiry hand upon the leash. He 
 tried to follow the flying train and Sylvia, looking 
 back, saw that it required the combined efforts 
 of the burly station-agent and Aunt Zilla to re- 
 strain him. 
 
 At the beautiful summer home of the Ard- 
 mores a week-end house-party was in progress. 
 Whatever Christian virtues or pagan follies are 
 attributed to individuals at other times, there are 
 but three things that can awaken their enthusiasm 
 at a summer party music, dancing, and gossip. 
 On this especial evening the music was all that 
 could be desired, and nearly all the guests were 
 dipping, swirling, swaying to its fascinating strains. 
 
 Donald Trefton and Fannie Ardmore were sit- 
 ting on a low divan, a mass of palms making a 
 cozy corner for a chat.
 
 REVEALED 415 
 
 " Donald, have you heard about Mrs. Van 
 Horn?" 
 
 " Of course I have. Over at the club young 
 Torrington was telling that a paragraph in to- 
 day's ' social column ' stated that Mrs. Daphne 
 Van Horn was quietly married to a prominent 
 club man, Brant Langdon. I said if she was, it 
 was the only thing that she ever did quietly. 
 Usually she wishes her social doings heralded as 
 with a brass band! " 
 
 " But think what she says, Donald! She's tell- 
 ing every one that Sylvia has so disappointed her, 
 that she actually married Langdon so that the Van 
 Horn millions might not go to Sylvia. She says 
 that Sylvia has chosen love rather than wealth, 
 whereas her choice should have been money, and 
 no love. She says that that is the only sane 
 choice! Oh, Donald, it isn't! " 
 
 ; ' Indeed it isn't," Trefton responded, with feel- 
 ing, and the tender words that followed were 
 hushed by a wave of music that suited their mood. 
 It was the " Melody of Love." 
 
 Just inside the ball-room Irma Delwin stood 
 watching the dancers. Beside her, her step- 
 mother, " the second Mrs. Delwin," as she per- 
 sistently styled herself, was keeping a watchful eye 
 busy. With it she intended to so pointedly gaze
 
 4i6 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 at some wight who valued her invitations that 
 he would feel obliged to ask Irma to dance. She 
 was playing the part of match-maker, not for 
 Irma's welfare, but for her own. She wished to 
 be the only woman in the Delwin mansion. 
 
 A passing couple mentioned Sylvia, whereat 
 Mrs. Delwin remarked, sotto voce: 
 
 " Jack Stanwood is a very fine young man, 
 surely, and altogether charming. Really, if he 
 had been more well, tactful, I believe he might 
 have married into a wealthy family." 
 
 " Oh, of course, every one knows he is an aw- 
 fully good fellow, but I never could see why Sylvia 
 fancied him," Irma hastily responded. 
 
 Mrs. Delwin turned sharply about. 
 
 " Don't be absurd, Irma," she said. " Every 
 one knows that you liked him, and I myself hap- 
 pened to be driving through the little place where 
 you spent so many weeks of the summer, and saw 
 you walking on the links with him. I got the im- 
 pression that you were especially interested in the 
 conversation." 
 
 A vapid youth, whom Mrs. Delwin had been 
 eyeing, obediently came and asked Irma for a 
 dance. 
 
 " I'd be willing she should marry that, yes, and 
 I'd get Horatio to settle a hundred thousand upon
 
 REVEALED 417 
 
 her, if thus I could be rid of her," she whispered, 
 the remark aimed apparently at Irma's plump 
 back. 
 
 The music ceased. Mrs. Delwin glanced 
 wearily across the ballroom. The very young 
 man was bending attentively over Irma, who had 
 quite forgotten him when a more interesting man 
 claimed her attention. 
 
 Mrs. Delwin heaved a mighty sigh. 
 
 "That's Wainright, Roderic Wainright. Well, 
 I should raise no object to him as a suitor for her," 
 she murmured. " In truth, I do not think there 
 lives a man whom I would not encourage, if by 
 thus doing I could rid the home of Irma." 
 
 Voices from behind the clump of palms were 
 now barely audible, and Mrs. Delwin, always 
 curious, moved nearer. 
 
 4 Well, I always admired Sylvia, and I am glad 
 to hear that her godmother left so much to her," 
 said a kindly voice, " and surely there's not a finer 
 young man anywhere than Jack Stanwood." 
 
 " I agree with you," responded a second 
 woman's voice, " but what a flutter of surprise 
 Mrs. Van Horn's marriage created! " 
 
 ' Yes, because you know she is immensely 
 wealthy, and she always said " 
 
 Mrs. Delwin, not in the lea.st caring what Mrs.
 
 418 THE THREE BIRCHES 
 
 Daphne Van Horn had said, moved away, and 
 soon was talking with another matron, who, being 
 also a stepmother, could fully sympathize with her, 
 or at least, appear to, which for the time, an- 
 swered the same purpose. 
 
 And while those who had always flattered Mrs. 
 Van Horn, because she expected it, and loved 
 Sylvia, because they could not help it, were gossip- 
 ing of the two marriages, the wagging tongues in 
 far away little Blossomville were quite as busy, 
 and the excitement greater. 
 
 Luke Elmore fully recovered, but, with a re- 
 serve of manner that had come to him, took no 
 part in the gossip, avoiding any group of men that 
 he saw chatting together. 
 
 All had admired Sylvia, and all now wished her 
 happiness. 
 
 It was Josh Lumley who came forward one 
 morning with a fresh item of news. 
 
 " They're a-goin' ter hev a fine home in New 
 York, him an' her, an' somewheres in the country 
 they're a-goin' ter build a newfangled house with 
 rooms all on one floor, an' the hull thing sounds 
 fine 'cept the name. 
 
 " Them one-story country houses is called bung- 
 holes! Could ye beat that? Bung-hole ter live 
 in beats me all holler! " he said.
 
 REVEALED 419 
 
 " Oh, ye hain't got that name right," declared a 
 neighbor in disgust. 
 
 " I hev, too," declared Josh, " an' the feller 
 what told me has built 'em, so it's likely he knows 
 what they be." 
 
 And while their affairs were being so freely dis- 
 cussed, Sylvia, beside her husband, who would al- 
 ways be her lover, leaned back with a happy sigh. 
 Jack laid his strong hand over the little gloved 
 one. She looked up at him with shining eyes. 
 
 ' You'd like to know my thoughts," she said, 
 " and I believe we were thinking much the same 
 thing. It was flitting through my mind at just 
 that moment, that we had passed through great 
 trial, and come forth into the sunshine of true 
 love." 
 
 " And what sunshine could be more radiant than 
 that? " he responded. 
 
 THE END
 
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