,--well, not a
great deal."

"Well, I don't suppose it does do me much good," Mrs. Maynard said,
turning her eyes seaward.

Barlow let his hand drop from the piazza post, and slouched in-doors;
but he came out again as if pricked by conscience to return.

"After all, you know, it did n't cure him."

"What cure him?" asked Mrs. Maynard.

"The whiskey with the white-pine chips in it."

"Cure who?"

"My brother."

"Oh! Oh, yes! But mine's only bronchial. I think it might do me good. I
shall tell Grace about it."

Barlow looked troubled, as if his success in the suggestion of this
remedy were not finally a pleasure; but as Mrs. Maynard kept her eyes
persistently turned from him, and was evidently tired, he had nothing
for it but to go in-doors again. He met Grace, and made way for her on
the threshold to pass out.

As she joined Mrs. Maynard, "Well, Grace," said the latter, "I do
believe you are right. I have taken some more cold. But that shows that
it does n't get worse of itself, and I think we ought to be encouraged
by that. I'm going to be more careful of the night air after this."

"I don't think the night air was the worst thing about it, Louise," said
Grace bluntly.

"You mean the damp from the sand? I put on my rubbers."

"I don't mean the damp sand," said Grace, beginning to pull over some
sewing which she had in her lap, and looking down at it.

Mrs. Maynard watched her a while in expectation that she would say more,
but she did not speak. "Oh--well!" she was forced to continue herself,
"if you're going to go on with that!"

"The question is," said Grace, getting the thread she wanted, "whether
you are going on with it."

"Why, I can't see any possible harm in it," protested Mrs. Maynard. "I
suppose you don't exactly like my going with Mr. Libby, and I know that
under some circumstances it would n't be quite the thing. But did n't I
tell you last night how he lived with us in Europe? And when we were
all coming over on the steamer together Mr. Libby and Mr. Maynard were
together the whole time, smoking and telling stories. They were the
greatest friends! Why, it isn't as if he was a stranger, or an enemy of
Mr. Maynard's."

Grace dropped her sewing into her lap. "Really, Louise, you're
incredible!" She looked sternly at the invalid; but broke into a laugh,
on which Mrs. Maynard waited with a puzzled face. As Grace said nothing
more, she helplessly resumed:--

"We did n't expect to go down