for them," Vincent thought.

Then for no reason at all his mind leaped to Dennie's father and his own
vow on the stormy night in October.

"What would you do if your father were taken from you, Miss Dennie?" he
asked.

"I've always had to depend on myself somewhat. I would keep on, I
suppose." Dennie looked up bravely. Her father was her joy and her
shame.

Well, what had Burgess expected? That she would depend on him? He was in
love with Elinor Wream. Why should he feel disappointed? And why should
his eye follow the soft little ripples of her sunny hair, giving a
pretty outline to her face and neck.

"Could you really take care of yourself? He was talking at random.

"I might do like that woman out at Pigeon Place." Burgess did n't catch
the pathos in Dennie's tone. He was only a man.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Oh, live alone and keep a big dog, and sell chickens. That's what Mrs.
Marian does. By the way, she looks just a little bit like you."

"Thank you!"

"She was at the game on Thanksgiving Day, strange to say, for she seldom
leaves home. Did you see a pretty white-haired woman, right south of
where we were?"

"Is that how I look? No, I didn't see her. I was n't at the game."

"You weren't? Why not? You missed a wonderful thing."

And Burgess told her the whole story from his viewpoint, of course. What
he was too proud to mention to Dr. Fenneben or Elinor he spoke of freely
to Dennie, and he felt as if the weight of the limestone ledge was
lifted from him with the telling.

"Don't you think the young ruffian was pretty hard on me?" he asked.

"No, I don't," Dennie said, frankly. "I think you were pretty hard on
him."

A sudden resolve seized Burgess. He came around to Dennie's side of the
table.

"Miss Dennie, I want to tell you something, unimportant in itself, but
better shared than kept. On the night of our picnic in October your
father, who was not quite himself--"

"Yes, I understand," Dennie said, with downcast eyes.

"Pardon me, Dennie, I would not hurt your feelings." His voice was very
gentle, and Dennie looked up gratefully. "On that night your father made
me promise--made me hold up my hand and swear--I'm easily forced, you
will think--to look after you if he were taken away. I did it to pacify
him, not to ever embarrass you. He also told me enough about young
Burleigh to make me wish, in the office of protector, to warn you."

"Was my father quite himself then?" Dennie asked.