ol has shown more
sense than I gave him credit for."

"I don't think he's a fool," returned Mrs. Peachey, reflecting how
wonderfully she had "managed" the great man, "but, of course, he's
queer--all writers are queer, aren't they?"

"He's kept it up longer than I thought, but I reckon he's about ready to
give in," pursued Cyrus, ignoring her question as he did all excursions
into the region of abstract wonder. "If he'll start in to earn his
living now, I'll let him have a job on the railroad out in Matoaca City.
I meant to teach him a lesson, but I shouldn't like Henry's son to
starve. I've nothing against Henry except that he was too soft. He was
a good brother as brothers go, and I haven't forgotten it."

"Perhaps, if you'd talk to Oliver," suggested Mrs. Peachey. "I'm afraid
I couldn't induce him to come to you, but----"

"Oh, I ain't proud--I don't need to be," interrupted Cyrus with a
chuckle. "Only fools and the poor have any use for pride. I'll look in
upon him sometime along after supper, and see if he's come to his wits
since I last talked to him."

"Then, I'm glad I came to you. Tom would be horrified almost to death if
he knew of it--but I've always said that when an idea crosses my mind
just like that," she snapped her thumb and forefinger, "there's
something in it."

As she rose from her seat, she looked up at him with the coquetry which
was so inalienable an attribute of her soul that, had the Deity assumed
masculine shape before her, she would instinctively have used this
weapon to soften the severity of His judgment. "It was so kind of you
not to send me away, Mr. Treadwell," she said in honeyed accents.

"It is a pleasure to meet such a sensible woman," replied Cyrus, with
awkward gallantry. Her flattery had warmed him pleasantly, and in the
midst of the dried husks of his nature, he was conscious suddenly that a
single blade of living green still survived. He had ceased to feel
old--he felt almost young again--and this rejuvenation had set in merely
because a middle-aged woman, whom he had known since childhood, had
shown an innocent pleasure in his society. Mrs. Peachey's traditional
belief in the power of sex had proved its own justification.

When she had left him, Cyrus sat down again, and took up his pipe from
the railing where he had placed it. "I'll go round and have some words
with the young scamp," he thought. "There's no use waiting until after
supper. I'll go round now while it is l