nd," said he. "This is just a little impromptu
visit of gratitude. We wish to thank you for the lovely flowers that
Willem brought us a few minutes ago, and for the noble check you sent
yesterday."

"Why," laughed Peter uncomfortably, "please don't even think of thanking
me. I----"

"And," nervously pursued the rector, sparring for time, "I want to let
you know how much we are still enjoying the delicious vegetables you so
generously provided. I _did_ relish that squash. If I were obliged to
say offhand what my favourite vegetable is, I----"

"Pardon me," interposed Peter, his glance straying past the rector and
resting with swift concern upon Mrs. Batholommey's quivering expanse of
face, "but is anything distressing you, Mrs. Ba----?"

"No, no!" interjected the rector with break-neck haste.

"No, no!" responded Mrs. Batholommey in the same breath.

A half inaudible growl from Dr. McPherson completed the triple chord of
negation. A chord so explosive, so crassly out of keeping with the
simple question that evoked it that Grimm stared amazed from one of the
trio to another.

Willem, strolling from his retreat, crossed to the table, picked up a
picture book, and in leisurely fashion mounted with it to the gallery
landing that overlooked the room. There he threw himself on a settee
between the bedroom doors and opened the book at random.

His lower lip quivered ever so little and his blue eyes were big with a
troubled wonder. From time to time his glance would stray from the gaudy
pages of the picture book down to Grimm in the room below. And each time
the wonder in his eyes became tinged with a new sorrow.

Meantime, Peter Grimm's look of questioning, perplexed sympathy toward
her tumult ridden self was becoming far too much for Mrs. Batholommey's
jellylike self-control. The jelly began to quake--quite visibly.

"I was afraid," Peter went on kindly, "that something unpleasant might
have happened. And I hoped perhaps I might be able----"

"Oh, no! No, no, _no_!" denied the utterly flustered woman. "I--I hope
you are feeling well, Mr. Grimm. No--no--I don't mean that. I--I don't
mean that I hope you are _well_. Of course not. I--that is----"

"Of course she hopes it," boomed her husband, coming to the rescue with
heavy and uncertain cheeriness that rang as false as the ring of a
leaden dollar. "And of course _all_ of us hope it, dear Mr. Grimm. With
all our hearts. And we wish you many, _many_ years of life and