the two old men home. On the way up Main Street they
overhauled Neal Ward. Mrs. Brownwell turned in to the sidewalk and
called, "Neal, can you run over to the house a moment this evening?"
And when he answered in the affirmative, she let the old nag amble
gently up the street.

"How pretty you are, Aunt Molly," exclaimed Neal, as the gray-haired
woman who could still wear a red ribbon came into the room where he
sat waiting for her. The boy's compliment pleased her, and she did not
hesitate to say so. But after that she plunged into the subject that
was uppermost in her heart.

"Neal," she said, as she drew her chair in front of him so that she
could see his face and know the truth, no matter what his lips might
say, "we're partners now, aren't we, or what amounts to the same
thing?" She smiled good-naturedly. "I own the overdraft at the bank
and you own the mortgage at the court-house. So I am going to ask you
a plain question; and if you say it isn't any of my business, I'll
attempt to show you that it is. Neal," she asked, looking earnestly
into his face, "why do you write to Jeanette Barclay every day of your
life and not mail the letters?"

The youth flushed. "Why--Aunt Molly--how did you know?--I never
told--"

"No, Neal, you never told me; but this afternoon while you we're out I
was looking for Adrian's check-book; I was sure we paid Dorman's bill
last April, and that I took the check over myself. I was going through
the desk, and I got on your side, thinking I might have left the
check-book there by mistake, and I ran into the very midst of those
letters, before I knew what I was about. Now, Neal--why?"

The young man gazed at the woman seriously for a time and then parried
her question with, "Why do you care--what difference can it make to
you, Aunt Molly?"

"Because," she answered quickly, "because I wish to see my partner
happy. He will do better work so--if you desire to put it on a
cold-blooded basis. Oh, Nealie, Nealie--do you love her that
much--that you take your heart and your life to her without hope or
without sign or answer every day?"

He dropped his eyes, and turned his face away. "Not every day," he
answered, "not every day--but every night, Aunt Molly."

"Why don't you go to her, Neal, and tell her?" asked the woman. "Is it
so hopeless as that?"

"Oh, there are many reasons--why I don't go to her," he replied.
After a minute's silence he went on: "In the first place she is a very
r