h him that you got your opportunity there at the bank.
And now--now he has done this to save you. Oh, Charlie!"

CHAPTER XIX

The clock in the steeple of the Methodist church boomed eleven
times and still the lights shone from the sitting-room windows of
the little Winslow house and from those of Jed's living quarters
behind his windmill shop. At that time of year and at that time of
night there were few windows alight in Orham, and Mr. Gabe Bearse,
had he been astir at such an hour, might have wondered why the
Armstrongs and "Shavings" were "settin' up." Fortunately for every
one except him, Gabe was in bed and asleep, otherwise he might have
peeped under Jed's kitchen window shade--he had been accused of
doing such things--and had he done so he would have seen Jed and
Charlie Phillips in deep and earnest conversation. Neither would
have wished to be seen just then; their interview was far too
intimate and serious for that.

They had been talking since eight. Charles and his sister had had
a long conversation following Captain Hunniwell's visit and then,
after a pretense at supper--a pretense made largely on Babbie's
account--the young man had come straight to the shop and to Jed.
He had found the latter in a state of extreme dejection. He was
sitting before the little writing table in his living-room, his
elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. The drawer of the
table was open and Jed was, apparently, gazing intently at
something within. When Phillips entered the room he started,
hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale and distressed
face to his visitor.

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it's you, Charlie, ain't it? I--I--er--
good mornin'. It's--it's a nice day."

Charles smiled slightly and shook his head.

"You're a little mixed on the time, aren't you, Jed?" he observed.
"It WAS a nice day, but it is a nice evening now."

"Eh? Is it? Land sakes, I presume likely 'tis. Must be after
supper time, I shouldn't wonder."

"Supper time! Why, it's after eight o'clock. Didn't you know it?"

"No-o. No, I guess not. I--I kind of lost run of the time, seems
so."

"Haven't you had any supper?"

"No-o. I didn't seem to care about supper, somehow."

"But haven't you eaten anything?"

"No. I did make myself a cup of tea, but twan't what you'd call a
success. . . . I forgot to put the tea in it. . . . But it don't
make any difference; I ain't hungry--or thirsty, either."

Phil