h; he'll travel good, going towards
home; he won't stop to get his tail over the lines, neither."

An hour later, when the long summer twilight was deepening into
gloom, Jim Dodge crossed the empty library and paused at the open
door of the room beyond. The somber light from the two tall windows
fell upon the figure of the girl. She was sitting before Andrew
Bolton's desk, her head upon her folded arms. Something in the
spiritless droop of her shoulders and the soft dishevelment of her
fair hair suggested weariness--sleep, perhaps. But as the young man
hesitated on the threshold the sound of a muffled sob escaped the
quiet figure. He turned noiselessly and went away, sorry and ashamed,
because unwittingly he had stumbled upon the clew he had long been
seeking.

Chapter XI

"Beside this stone wall I want flowers," Lydia was saying to her
landscape-gardener, as she persisted in calling Jim Dodge.
"Hollyhocks and foxgloves and pinies--I shall never say peony in
Brookville--and pansies, sweet williams, lads' love, iris and
sweetbrier. Mrs. Daggett has promised to give me some roots."

He avoided her eyes as she faced him in the bright glow of the
morning sunlight.

"Very well, Miss Orr," he said, with cold respect. "You want a border
here about four feet wide, filled with old-fashioned perennials."

He had been diligent in his study of the books she had supplied him
with.

"A herbaceous border of that sort in front of the stone wall will
give quite the latest effect in country-house decoration," he went on
professionally. "Ramblers of various colors might be planted at the
back, and there should be a mixture of bulbs among the taller plants
to give color in early spring."

She listened doubtfully.

"I don't know about the ramblers," she said. "Were there
ramblers--twenty years ago? I want it as nearly as possible just as
it was. Mrs. Daggett told me yesterday about the flower-border here.
You--of course you don't remember the place at all; do you?"

He reddened slightly under her intent gaze.

"Oh, I remember something about it," he told her; "the garden was a
long time going down. There were flowers here a few years back; but
the grass and weeds got the better of them."

"And do you--remember the Boltons?" she persisted. "I was so
interested in what Mrs. Daggett told me about the family yesterday.
It seems strange to think no one has lived here since. And now that
I--it is to be my home, I can't he