ver to-night. But I will be thinking of you.

DICK.

A bit puzzled, she had shown the note to her father. Irate, he had
issued a mandate that produced the effect Terry had asked. Mr. Hunter
was acutely sensitive about twin corns which had been a part of his
toes so long that he honestly thought them congenital.

After quitting the store Terry had turned his attention to their farm
properties but, as a careful investigation covering three months had
demonstrated them to be in capable hands, he had returned them to the
full management of the old tenants at the end of the harvest. He had
then studied the possibilities of enlarging their only other business,
a small pulp plant, but after satisfying himself that the meager water
power was being fully utilized and that the location of the mill at
Crampville precluded competition with those more favorably located
that were operated with steam power, he had abandoned the project. For
a month he had been seeking outlet for his restless energy.

Deane, anxiously watching his endeavor to fit himself into one of
Crampville's narrow grooves and vaguely understanding his unvoiced
craving for wider horizons, dreaded the break she knew would take him
away. Susan, studying him with the uneasy solicitude of an older
sister, saw in Deane an anchor which would hold him to the town. Ellis
had been less concerned, as he had recognized that Terry's intolerance
of the village was but the outcropping of a sane young spirit that
gauged the peaks and sought real service. He had been trying lately to
prepare his wife for Terry's departure to other fields, as he thought
it inevitable. It was a word to this effect that had precipitated the
tears with which she had greeted her brother before dinner.

Ellis plagued Susan throughout the leisurely meal, Terry adding an
occasional word whenever the flow of affectionate badgering lagged.
Fanny, who had served them since they were children, bustled in and
out, redfaced, wholesome, fruitlessly trying to press upon Terry an
excess of the over-ample dinner. It was a sort of unwritten law in
Crampville that the Sunday dinner should be sufficiently heavy to
drive the menfolk to a long digestive nap.

Ellis lingered at the table after Terry had excused himself and gone
out into the barn again. Susan helped Fanny clear the old mahogany
table, then sank into a chair beside her abstracted husband.

"Sue," he