oly, shedding tears after every swallow, he
would make an exploring tour of the room on his way back to his corner,
stopping to look under each chair inquiringly and ejaculate: "Why, where
kin he be!" Then, shaking his head, he would observe sadly: "Fine
young man, he was, too; fine young man. Pore fellow! I reckon we hain't
a-goin' to git him."

At eleven o'clock. Judge Briscoe dropped wearily from his horse at his
own gate, and said to a wan girl who came running down the walk to meet
him: "There is nothing, yet. I sent the telegram to your mother--to Mrs.
Sherwood."

Helen turned away without answering. Her face was very white and looked
pinched about the mouth. She went back to where old Fisbee sat on the
porch, his white head held between his two hands; he was rocking himself
to and fro. She touched him gently, but he did not look up. She spoke to
him.

"There isn't anything--yet. He sent the telegram to mamma. I shall stay
with you, now, no matter what you say." She sat beside him and put her
head down on his shoulder, and though for a moment he appeared not to
notice it, when Minnie came out on the porch, hearing her father at the
door, the old scholar had put his arm about the girl and was stroking
her fair hair softly.

Briscoe glanced at them, and raised a warning finger to his daughter,
and they went tiptoeing into the house, where the judge dropped heavily
upon a sofa with an asthmatic sigh; he was worn and tired. Minnie stood
before him with a look of pale inquiry, and he shook his head.

"No use to tell _them_; but I can't see any hope," he answered her,
biting nervously at the end of a cigar. "I expect you better bring me
some coffee in here; I couldn't take another step to save me. I'm too
old to tear around the country horseback before breakfast, like I have
to-day."

"Did you send her telegram?" Minnie asked, as he drank the coffee she
brought him. She had interpreted "coffee" liberally, and, with the
assistance of Mildy Upton (whose subdued nose was frankly red and who
shed tears on the raspberries), had prepared an appetizing table at his
elbow.

"Yes," responded the judge, "and I'm glad she sent it. I talked
the other way yesterday, what little I said--it isn't any of our
business--but I don't think any too much of those people, somehow. She
thinks she belongs with Fisbee, and I guess she's right. That young
fellow must have got along with her pretty well, and I'm afraid when
she gives up