t
girl. Something tells me--call it intuition or sentimentality or what
you will--but something tells me I must keep on trying to help her. I
only wish I could make you share my point of view."

"Well, you can't. Say, see here, why don't you go to see the mother? I
judge she might convince you that you are on the wrong tack, even if I
can't."

"That's exactly what I mean to do," she declared.

Something inside her brain gave a little jump. It was curious that she
had not thought of it before; even more curious that his labored
sarcasms had been required to set her on this new trail.

"Well, at that, you'd better think twice before you go," he retorted.
"She was a mighty badly broken-up woman the last time I saw her, but
even so I judge she's still got spunk enough left in her to resent
having an unauthorized and uninvited stranger coming about, seeking to
pry into her own private sorrow. But it's your affair, not mine.
Besides, judging by everything, you probably don't think my advice is
worth much anyhow."

"Oh, yes, but I do--I do indeed! And I thank you for it."

"Don't mention it! And good day!"

The slamming of the inner door behind him made an appropriate
exclamation point to punctuate the brevity of his offended and indignant
departure. For a moment she felt like laughing outright. Then she felt
like crying. Then she did neither. She left.

"Poor, old opinionated, stupid old, conscientious old thing!" she was
saying to herself as she let herself, unattended, out of the front door.
"And yet I'll wager he would sit up all night and work his fingers to
the bone trying to save a life. And when it comes to serving poor people
without expecting payment or even asking for it, I know he is a perfect
dear. Besides, I should be grateful to him--he gave me an idea. I don't
know where he got it from either--I don't believe he ever had so very
many of his own."

Again the handy cop in the communal center set her upon her way. But
when she came to the destination she sought--a small, rather shabby
cottage standing a mile or so westward from the middle of things
communal, out in the fringes of the village where outlying homesteads
tailed away into avowed farmsteads--the house itself was closed up fast
and tight. The shutters all were closely drawn and against the gatepost
was fastened a newly painted sign reading: "For Sale or Rent. Apply to
Searle, the Up-to-Date Real Estate Man, Next Door to Pythian Hall."

Not q