to both sides. . . . I--I hope you don't think I'm--er--
unfeelin', jokin', when you're in such worry and trouble," he
added, anxiously. "I didn't mean it."

His anxiety was wasted. She had heard neither his first remark nor
the apology for it. Her thoughts had been far from the windmill
shop and its proprietor. Now, apparently awakening to present
realities, she rose and turned toward the door.

"That was all," she said, wearily. "You know the whole truth now,
Mr. Winslow. Of course you will not speak of it to any one else."
Then, noticing the hurt look upon his face, she added, "Forgive me.
I know you will not. If I had not known it I should not have
confided in you. Thank you for listening so patiently."

She was going, but he touched her arm.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered, "but--but wasn't there
somethin' else? Somethin' you wanted to ask my advice about--or--
or--somethin'?"

She smiled faintly. "Yes, there was," she admitted. "But I don't
know that it is worth while troubling you, after all. It is not
likely that you can help me. I don't see how any one can."

"Probably you're right. I--I ain't liable to be much help to
anybody. But I'm awful willin' to try. And sometimes, you know--
sometimes surprisin' things happen. 'Twas a--a mouse, or a ground
mole, wasn't it, that helped the lion in the story book out of the
scrape? . . . Not that I don't look more like a--er--giraffe than
I do like a mouse," he added.

Mrs. Armstrong turned and looked at him once more. "You're very
kind," she said. "And I know you mean what you say. . . . Why,
yes, I'll tell you the rest. Perhaps," with the slight smile, "you
CAN advise me, Mr. Winslow. You see--well, you see, my brother
will be freed very shortly. I have received word that he is to be
pardoned, his sentence is to be shortened because of what they call
his good conduct. He will be free--and then? What shall he do
then? What shall we all do? That is my problem."

She went on to explain. This was the situation: Her own income
was barely sufficient for Barbara and herself to live, in the
frugal way they were living, in a country town like Orham. That
was why she had decided to remain there. No one in the village
knew her story or the story of her brother's disgrace. But now,
almost any day, her brother might be discharged from prison. He
would be without employment and without a home. She would so
gladly offer him a ho