e becoming acquainted, making friends."

Jed nodded. "He's a nice young chap," he said, quietly.

"Of course he is. . . . You mustn't mind my shameless family
boasting," she added, with a little laugh. "It is only because I
am so proud of him, and so glad--so glad for us all."

Jed did not mind. It is doubtful if at that moment he was aware of
what she was saying. He was thinking how her brother's coming had
improved her, how well she was looking, how much more color there
was in her cheeks, and how good it was to hear her laugh once more.
The windmill shop was a different place when she came. It was a
lucky day for him when the Powlesses frightened him into letting
Barbara and her mother move into the old house for a month's trial.

Of course he did not express these thoughts aloud, in fact he
expressed nothing whatever. He thought and thought and, after a
time, gradually became aware that there was absolute silence in the
shop. He looked at his caller and found that she was regarding him
intently, a twinkle in her eye and an amused expression about her
mouth. He started and awoke from his day-dream.

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Yes--yes, I guess so."

She shook her head.

"You do?" she said. "Why, I thought your opinion was exactly the
opposite."

"Eh? Oh, yes, so 'tis, so 'tis."

"Of course. And just what did you say about it?"

Jed was confused. He swallowed hard, hesitated, swallowed again
and stammered: "I-- Why, I--that is--you see--"

She laughed merrily. "You are a very poor pretender, Jed," she
declared. "Confess, you haven't the least idea what opinion I
mean."

"Well--well, to be right down honest, I--I don't know's I have,
Mrs. Ruth."

"Of course, you haven't. There isn't any opinion. You have been
sitting there for the last five minutes, staring straight at me and
picking that paint brush to pieces. I doubt if you even knew I was
here."

"Eh? Oh, yes, I know that, I know that all right. Tut! tut!"
inspecting the damaged brush. "That's a nice mess, ain't it? Now
what do you suppose I did that for? I'm scared to death, when I
have one of those go-to-sleeptic fits, that I'll pick my head to
pieces. Not that that would be as big a loss as a good paint
brush," he added, reflectively.

His visitor smiled. "I think it would," she said. "Neither Babbie
nor I could afford to lose that head; it and its owner have been
too thoughtful and kind. But tell me, what WERE you thin