at
makes you think he is sick?"

"I went out last night to be sure I had shut the henhouse door, and I
heard him groanin', and I said, knockin' on the door, 'What's wrong,
Arthur?' and he said, 'Oh, I beg your pardon, Pearl, did I frighten
you?' and I said, 'No, but what's wrong?' and he said, 'Nothing at all,
Pearl, thank you'; but I know there is. You know how polite he
is--wouldn't trouble anybody. Wouldn't ask ye to slap 'im on the back
if he was chokin'. I went out two or three times and once I brought him
out some liniment, and he told me every time he would be 'well
directly,' but I don't believe him. If Arthur groans there's something
to groan for, you bet."

"Maybe he's in love," Tom said sheepishly.

"But you don't groan, Tom, do you?" she asked seriously.

"Maybe I ain't in love, though, Pearl. Ask Jim Russell, he can tell
you."

"Jim ain't in love, is he?" Pearl asked anxiously. Her responsibilities
were growing too fast. One love affair and a sick man she felt was all
she could attend to.

"Well, why do you suppose Jim comes over here every second day to get
you to write a note to that friend of yours?"

"Camilla?" Pearl asked open-mouthed. Tom nodded.

"Camilla can't leave Mrs. Francis," Pearl declared with conviction.

"Jim's a dandy smart fellow. He only stays on the farm in the summer.
In the winter he book-keeps for three or four of the stores in Millford
and earns lots of money," Tom said, admiringly.

After a pause Pearl said thoughtfully, "I love Camilla!"

"That's just the way Jim feels, too, I guess," Tom said laughing as he
went out to the stable.

When Tom went out to the granary he found Arthur dressing, but flushed
and looking rather unsteady.

"What's gone wrong with you, old man?" he asked kindly.

"I feel a bit queer," Arthur replied, "that's all. I shall be well
directly. Got a bit of a cold, I think."

"Slept in a field with the gate open like as not," Tom laughed.

Arthur looked at him inquiringly.

"You'll feel better when you get your breakfast," Tom went on. "I don't
wonder you're sick--you haven't been eatin' enough to keep a canary
bird alive. Go on right into the house now. I'll feed your team."

"It beats all what happens to our help," Mrs. Motherwell complained to
Pearl, as they washed the breakfast dishes. "It looks very much as if
Arthur is goin' to be laid up, too, and the busy time just on us."

Pearl was troubled. Why should Arthur be sick? He had ple