n asylum before
the summer is over."

The look of satisfaction which her first words had brought to Cyrus's
face deepened gradually as her story unfolded. "He's wanting money, I
reckon," he commented, his imagination seizing upon the only medium in
which it could work. As a philosopher may discern in all life different
manifestations of the Deity, so he saw in all affliction only the
wanting of money under varied aspects. Sorrows in which the lack of
money did not bear a part always seemed to him to be unnecessary and
generally self-inflicted by the sufferers. Of such people he would say
impatiently that they took a morbid view of their troubles and were
"nursing grief."

"I don't think it's that," said Mrs. Peachey. "He always pays his bills
promptly on the first day of the month, and I know that he gets checks
from New York for the writing he does. I'm sometimes tempted to believe
that he has fallen in love."

"Love? Pshaw!" said Cyrus, and dismissed the passion.

"But it goes hard with some people, and he's one of that kind," rejoined
the little lady, with spirit, for in spite of her wholesome awe of
Cyrus, she could not bear to hear the sentiment derided. "We aren't all
as sensible as you are, Mr. Treadwell."

"Well, if he is in love, as you say, whom is he in love with?" demanded
Cyrus.

"It's all guesswork," answered Mrs. Peachey. "He isn't paying attention
to any girl that I know of--but, I suppose, if it's anybody, it must be
Virginia Pendleton. All the young men are crazy about her."

She had been prepared for opposition--she had been prepared, being a
lady, for anything, as she told Tom afterwards, short of an oath--but to
her amazement the unexpected, which so rarely happened in the case of
Cyrus, happened at that minute. Human nature, which she had treated
almost as a science, proved suddenly that it was not even an art. One of
those glaring inconsistencies which confute every theory and overturn
all psychology was manifested before her.

"That's the daughter of old Gabriel, aint it?" asked Cyrus, and
unconsciously to himself, his voice softened.

"Yes, she's Gabriel's daughter, and one of the sweetest girls that ever
lived."

"Gabriel's a good man," said Cyrus. "I always liked Gabriel. We fought
through the war together."

"A better man never lived, nor a better woman than Lucy. If she's got a
fault on earth, it's that she's too unselfish."

"Well, if this girl takes after them, the young fo