n his spare moments, few as they were,
he was sure to be found digging and trimming and training, with the
happiness of the born gardener. Ah, those days! She remembered the
half-incredulous wonder with which she had been used to hear people speak
of the certainty of trouble. She had felt so certain that joy overbalanced
sorrow, that smiles were more frequent than tears. Now she understood,
since she had tried to hide her own grief under a smiling face.

From her babyhood she had been her father's companion and confidante,
driving about the country with him, interested in all that concerned his
large practice. A warm-hearted, impulsive man, open handed to the point of
extravagance, Dr. Fair had had few enemies and many friends; and loving
his work, life had been full of joy to him. In contrast with those happy
years the bitterness of his last days seemed doubly cruel to Celia.
Whenever she was tired and discouraged, the memory of that dark time rose
before her.

She had been only a child when Patterson Whittredge left home, but she
could remember how warmly her father had taken his side, and how this had
caused the first coolness between him and his boyhood friend, Judge
Whittredge. The judge was influenced by his wife, and between the stubborn
doctor and imperious Mrs. Whittredge there had been no love lost.

The storm had passed after a while, and when the judge's health began to
fail Dr. Fair had been called in. But Mrs. Whittredge had not forgotten,
and the doctor's position was not an easy one. Only his devotion to his
old friend had kept him from giving up the case at the beginning. The
Gilpin will and her father's testimony to the old man's sanity had added
to the trouble, and upon this had come the accusation which, whispered
about, had broken the doctor's heart. Harassed by the hard times and the
failure of investments, denied a place at the bedside of his friend, he
had fallen an easy victim to pneumonia, outliving Judge Whittredge only a
few days. The memory of it lay like lead upon Celia's heart.

"I have left you nothing but a heritage of misfortune, Celia," had been
his last words to her.

"Don't think of that, father; I'll manage," she answered; and she had
tried, but the solving of the problem was costing her the bloom of her
youth. There were the two brothers to be educated, and a delicate, almost
invalid mother to be cared for, and an income that would little more than
pay the taxes on their home.