and no one had had a wink of sleep--in
spite of all this, Tish remained firm in her conviction that 7 A. M. on
Registration Day, when the precincts opened, would find him too old to
register.

On the surface the days that followed passed uneventfully. Tish sewed
and knitted, and once each day stood Aggie and myself on the outskirts
of her garden and pointed out things which she said would be green corn,
and tomatoes and peppers and so on. But there was a set look about her
face, to those of us who knew and loved her. She had moments of
abstraction, too, and during one of them weeded out an entire row of
spring onions, according to Hannah.

On the third of June I went into the jeweller's to have my watch
regulated, and found Tish at the counter. She muttered something about a
main spring and went out, leaving me staring after her. I am no idiot,
however, although not Tish's mental equal by any means, and I saw that
she had been looking at gentlemen's gold watches.

I had a terrible thought that she intended trying to purchase Charlie
Sands by a gift. But I might have known her high integrity. She would
not stoop to a bribe. And, as a matter of fact, happening to stop at
the Ostermaiers' that evening to show Mrs. Ostermaier how to purl, I
found that dear Tish, remembering the anniversary of his first sermon to
us, had presented Mr. Ostermaier with a handsome watch.

It was on the fourth of June that I had another visit from Charlie
Sands. He is usually a most amiable young man, but on that occasion he
came in glowering savagely, and on sitting down on Aggie's knitting,
which was on steel needles, he flung it across the room, and had to
spend quite a little time apologizing.

"The truth is," he said, "I'm so blooming upset that I'm not myself. Let
me put these needles back, won't you? Or do they belong in some
particular place?"

"They do," Aggie retorted grimly. "And for a young man who will be
thirty-two tomorrow morning----"

"Evening," he corrected her, with a sort of groan. "I see she's got you
too. Look here," he went on, "I'm in trouble, and I'm blessed if I see
my way out. I want to register tomorrow. I may not be drawn, because I'm
an unlucky devil and always was. But--I want to do my bit."

"Well," I observed, tartly. "I guess no one can prevent you. Go and do
it, and say nothing."

"Not at all," he replied, getting up and striding up and down the room.
"Not a bit of it. I grant you it looks simple. W