d of Jane Hubbard's slow
good-humoured voice behind him.

"Now, Jack," she drawled, "I agree with you perfectly; but that is NO
reason why I should be neglected entirely. Come and hang up my coat."

Full of remorse, Orde turned. Jane Hubbard stood accusingly in the
middle of the hall, her plain, shrewd, good-humoured face smiling
faintly. Orde met her frank wide eyes with some embarrassment.

"Here it is," said Jane, holding out the coat. "I don't much care
whether you hang it up or not. I just wanted to call you back to wish
you luck." Her slow smile widened, and her gray eyes met his still more
knowingly.

Orde seized the coat and her hand at the same time.

"Jane, you're a trump," said he. "No wonder you're the most popular girl
in town."

"Of course I am, Jack," she agreed indolently. She entered the parlour.

The candy pulling was a success. Of course everybody got burned a
little and spattered a good deal; but that was to be expected. After
the product had been broken and been piled on dishes, all trooped to the
informal "back sitting-room," where an open fire invited to stories and
games of the quieter sort. Some of the girls sat in chairs, though most
joined the men on the hearth.

Carroll Bishop, however, seemed possessed of a spirit of restlessness.
The place seemed to interest her. She wandered here and there in the
room, looking now at the walnut-framed photograph of Uncle Jim Orde,
now at the great pink conch shells either side the door, now at the
marble-topped table with its square paper-weight of polished agate and
its glass "bell," beneath which stood a very life-like robin. This "back
sitting-room" contained little in the way of ornament. It was filled, on
the contrary, with old comfortable chairs, and worn calf-backed books.
The girl peered at the titles of these; but the gas-jets had been turned
low in favour of the firelight, and she had to give over the effort
to identify the volumes. Once she wandered close to Grandma Orde's
cushioned wooden rocker, and passed her hand lightly over the old lady's
shoulder.

"Do you mind if I look at things?" she asked. "It's so dear and sweet
and old and different from our New York homes."

"Look all you want to, dearie," said Grandma Orde.

After a moment she passed into the dining-room. Here Orde found her, her
hands linked in front of her.

"Oh, it is so quaint and delightful," she exhaled slowly. "This dear,
dear old house with its low ceilings