uisitor."

Marjie, studying the pictures in the burning coals, said nothing. O'mie
also sat silent for a time.

"Marjie," he said at length, "when you see things goin' all wrong end
to, and you know what's behind 'em, drivin' 'em wrong, what's your rale
Presbyterian duty then? Let 'em go? or tend to somethin' else besides
your own business? Honest, now, what's what?"

"I don't know what you're up to, O'mie." She was looking dreamily into
the grate, the firelight on her young face and thoughtful brown eyes
making a picture tenderly sweet and fair. In her mind was the image of
Judge Baronet as he looked the night before, when he lifted his head
after Dr. Hemingway's prayer for his son. And then maybe a picture of
the graceless son himself came unbidden, and his eyes were full of love
as when they looked down into hers on the day Rachel Melrose came into
Judge Baronet's office demanding his attention. "What's the matter,
O'mie? Is Uncle Cam being imposed on? You'd never stand that, I know."

"No, little girl, Cambridge Gentry can still take care of Cam's interest
and do a kind act to more folks off-hand better than any other man I
know. Marjie, it's Phil Baronet."

Marjie gave a start, but she made no effort to hide her interest.

"Little girl, he's been wronged, and lied about, and misunderstood, by a
crowd av us who have knowed him day in and day out since he was a little
boy. Marjory Whately, did anybody iver catch him in a lie? Did he iver
turn coward in a place where courage was needed? Did he iver do a
cruelty to a helpless thing, or fight a smaller boy? Did he iver
decaive? Honestly, now, was there iver anything in all the years we run
together that wasn't square and clane and fearless and lovin'?"

Marjie sat with bowed head before the flickering fire. When O'mie spoke
again his voice was husky.

"Little girl, when I was tied hand and foot, and left to die in that
dark Hermit's Cave, it was Phil Baronet who brought in the sunlight and
a face radiant with love. When Jean Pahusca, drunk as a fury, was after
you out on the prairie with that cruel knife ready, the knife I've seen
him kill many a helpless thing with when he was drunk, when this Jean
was ridin' like a fiend after you, Phil turned to me that day and his
white agonized face I'll never forget. Now, Marjie, it's to right his
wrong, and the wrongs of some he loves that I'm studyin' about. The week
Phil came home from the rally I took a vacation. Shall