l, stood gazing
down into the empty fireplace.

"Well?" I exclaimed, angered by his mood.

"This is two weeks old, Mark," he said, handing me the paper.

"What of it?" I cried querulously, putting on my hat and moving to the
door.

My hand was on the knob turning it, when Tim said, "Mary has left the
valley."

It did not bother me much when he said that. I was getting so used to
being knocked about that a blow or two more made little difference.
The knob was not turned though. It shot back with a click, and I
leaned against the door, staring at my brother.

"And when did she go?" I asked. "And where--back to Kansas?"

"To New York," Tim answered, "and with Weston--she has married Weston."

I was glad the door was there, for that trip over the mountain, with
the creek, and the powwowing and all that, had left me still a little
wobbly. Tim's announcement was not adding to my spirit. Long I gazed
at his quiet face; and I knew well enough that he was speaking the
truth. And, perhaps, after all, the truth was best. It was all over,
anyway, and we were just where we started before she came to the valley.

I was just where I was before I found that note lying on the door-sill.
I had been foolish, sitting there on the floor reading that message of
hers that she had belied. But that was only for a minute, and I would
never be foolish again. Trust me for that.

"She has married Weston," I said. "Well, the little flirt!"

Tim got down on the hearth and began piling paper and kindling and logs
in the fireplace. He started the blaze, and when it was going cheerily
he looked up to find me in my old chair by the table, with Captain
beside me, his head on my knee as I stroked it.

"The little flirt!" I said again, bound that he should hear me.

He heard. He took his old chair, and resting his elbows on the table,
resting his chin in his hands, a favorite attitude of his, he sat there
eying me quietly.

"The little what, Mark?" he said at last.

"Flirt," I snapped.

It was simply a braggart's way. I knew it. Tim knew it, too. He
seemed to look right through me. I was angry with him, I was jealous
of him, because she had cared for him. I knew she had. I knew why she
had. Tim and I were far apart. But he had made the breach. All the
wrong wrought was his, and yet he sat there, calmly eying me, as though
he were a righteous judge and I the culprit.

"Why did you say flirt?" he asked quietly.

"Sh