culated Cap'n Ira. "What she
needs is a doctor, not a minister. What do you think of that,
Prudence?"

"I hope Elder Minnett will be able to put her in better mind,"
sighed his wife. "That girl must have a very wicked heart, indeed,
if she isn't really crazy."

CHAPTER XXVI

ELDER MINNETT HAS HIS SAY

Another night counted among the interminable nights which have
dragged their slow length across the couch of sleeplessness. To
Sheila, lying in the four-poster--a downy couch, indeed, for a quiet
conscience--the space of time after she blew out her lamp and until
the dawn passed like the sluggish coils of some Midgard serpent. An
eternity in itself.

She came down to her daily tasks again with no change in her looks,
although her voice had the same placid, kindly tone which had
cheered the old people for these many weeks. But they both were
worried about her.

"Maybe she's been working too hard, Prudence," ventured the old man.
"Can it be so, d'ye think?"

"She says she likes to work. She's a marvel of a housekeeper, Ira. I
don't mean to put too much on her, but I can't do much myself, spry
as I do feel this fall. And she won't let me, anyway."

"I know, I know," muttered Cap'n Ira. "She's with you like she is
with me. Always running to help me, or to pick up something I let
fall, or to fetch and carry. A kinder girl never breathed. I swan!
What should we do without her, Prue? That Tunis--"

"Sh!" Prudence begged him. "Don't chaff no more about that, Ira."

"Why not?" he asked. "Though I don't feel much like chaffing when I
think of them getting married. 'Tis a pretty serious business for
us, Prudence."

"I had a chance to hint about it last night when you went outside
with Zebedee," whispered his wife, "I spoke about Tunis. She--she
says she'll never leave us to marry Tunis or any other man."

"What's that?" ejaculated Cap'n Ira. "He wouldn't agree to come and
live here, I reckon. What would become of his Aunt 'Cretia? I don't
guess there's any fear of her getting married, is there?"

"No, no! Don't be funnin'! But Ida May said just that--in so many
words."

"She's mad with him, do you cal'late? They had a tiff!" cried her
husband. "And they were like two turtledoves the night that other
gal come here. It don't seem possible. I swan! _That's_ why she's so
on her beam ends, I bet a cake!"

"It may be. She wouldn't say much. I didn't understand, though,
that they had quarreled. Only that she'd