had been with rebellion of
spirit that she placed him there, but the judge had taken one of those
infrequent stands which she knew it was useless to resist. She put the
tray on a table near the big four-poster bed, and leaned over to look
at the sleeper.

Sandy lay quiet among the pillows, his fair hair tumbled, his lips
parted. As the light fell on his flushed face he stirred.

"Here's your supper," said Mrs. Hollis, her voice softening in spite
of herself. He was younger than she had thought. She slipped her arm
under the pillow and raised his head.

"You must eat," she said kindly.

He looked at her vacantly, then a momentary consciousness flitted over
his face, a vague realization that he was being cared for. He put up a
hot hand and gently touched her cheek; then, rallying all his
strength, he smiled away his debt of gratitude. It was over in a
moment, and he sank back unconscious.

[Illustration: "He smiled away his debt of gratitude"]

Through the dreary hours of the night Mrs. Hollis sat by the bed,
nursing him with the aching tenderness that only a childless woman can
know. Below, in the depths of a big feather-bed, the judge slept in
peaceful unconcern, disturbing the silence by a series of long, loud,
and unmelodious snores.

CHAPTER VII

CONVALESCENCE

"Is that the Nelson phaeton going out the road?" asked Mrs. Hollis as
she peered out through the dining-room window one morning. "I
shouldn't be a bit surprised if it was Mrs. Nelson making her yearly
visits, and here my bricks haven't been reddened."

Sandy's heart turned a somersault. He was sitting up for the first
time, wrapped in blankets and wearing a cap to cover his close-cropped
head. All through his illness he had been tortured by the thought that
he had talked of Ruth, though now wild horses could not have dragged
forth a question concerning her.

"Melvy," continued Mrs. Hollis, as she briskly rubbed the sideboard
with some unsavory furniture-polish, "if Mrs. Nelson does come here,
you be sure to put on your white apron before you open the door; and
for pity sake don't forget the card-tray! You ought to know better
than to stick out your hand for a lady's calling-card. I told you
about that last week."

Aunt Melvy paused in her dusting and chuckled: "Lor', honey, dat's
right! You orter put on airs all de time, wid all de money de judge is
got. He says to me yisterday, says he, 'Can't you 'suade yer Miss Sue
not to be cleani