church;
hasn't missed a day since he took the pledge nine years ago. And on the
way I met two people, a man and a woman. They looked half dead, so I
sent them right here for breakfast and some soap and water. I always say
soap is better than liquor after a shock."

Hotchkiss was listening absently: McKnight was whistling under his
breath, staring down across the field to where a break in the woods
showed a half dozen telegraph poles, the line of the railroad.

"It must have been twelve o'clock when we got back; I wanted the
children to see everything, because it isn't likely they'll ever see
another wreck like that. Rows of--"

"About twelve o'clock," I broke in, "and what then?"

"The young man up-stairs was awake," she went on, "and hammering at his
door like all possessed. And it was locked on the outside!" She paused
to enjoy her sensation.

"I would like to see that lock," Hotchkiss said promptly, but for some
reason the woman demurred.

"I will bring the key down," she said and disappeared. When she returned
she held out an ordinary door key of the cheapest variety.

"We had to break the lock," she volunteered, "and the key didn't turn up
for two days. Then one of the twins found the turkey gobbler trying to
swallow it. It has been washed since," she hastened to assure Hotchkiss,
who showed an inclination to drop it.

"You don't think he locked the door himself and threw the key out of the
window?" the little man asked.

"The windows are covered with mosquito netting, nailed on. The mister
blamed it on the children, and it might have been Obadiah. He's the
quiet kind, and you never know what he's about."

"He's about to strangle, isn't he," McKnight remarked lazily, "or is
that Obadiah?"

Mrs. Carter picked the boy up and inverted him, talking amiably all the
time. "He's always doing it," she said, giving him a shake. "Whenever we
miss anything we look to see if Obadiah's black in the face." She gave
him another shake, and the quarter I had given him shot out as if blown
from a gun. Then we prepared to go back to the station.

From where I stood I could look into the cheery farm kitchen, where
Alison West and I had eaten our al fresco breakfast. I looked at the
table with mixed emotions, and then, gradually, the meaning of something
on it penetrated my mind. Still in its papers, evidently just opened,
was a hat box, and protruding over the edge of the box was a streamer of
vivid green ribbon.

On