rror giving the last touches to her hair was distinctly not
an unpleasing one. Maggie, the maid, who entered the room to announce a
caller, was extravagant in her praises.

"Ah, sure, Miss, you look fine," she declared. "You're that sweet one
look at you would sugar a cup of tea. Ah, he'll be that proud of you and
he ought to be, too. But he's a fine young man, and--"

"Who? What are you talking about, Maggie?" interrupted Mary. "Who will
be proud of me and who is a fine young fellow?"

"Who? Why, Mr. Smith, of course; who else? He's down in the parlor
waitin' for you now. I'll tell him you'll be down."

Before Mary could stop her she had left the room and was on her way
downstairs. Mary followed a moment later. She had not expected a visit
from Crawford, who had called already that week. She wondered why he had
come.

She found him in the parlor. Mrs. Wyeth was out shopping with Miss
Pease, and he and she were alone. He rose to meet her as she entered.

"Why, Crawford," she said, "what is the matter? Has anything happened?
Why do you look so serious?"

He smiled ruefully. "I guess because I am rather serious," he answered.
"I've had some news and I came to tell you about it." Then, noticing her
gown, he added: "But you're going out, aren't you?"

"I am going out by and by. I am going to dine and spend the evening with
Barbara Howe. But I am not going yet. Won't you sit down?"

"I will if you're sure you can spare the time. I hope you can,
because--well, because I do want to talk to you. I've had bad news from
home. My father is ill--and in the doctor's care."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hope it isn't serious."

"I don't know whether it is or not. It can't be desperately serious,
because he wrote the letter himself. But at any rate it's serious enough
for me. He wants me to give up my work here at the Harvard Medical and
come West."

Mary gasped. "Give it up!" she repeated. "Give up your studies? Give up
medicine? Surely he doesn't want you to do that!"

Crawford shook his head. "No, not quite that," he replied. "I wouldn't
do that, even for him. But he writes that he is not well and is not
likely to be better for a good while, if ever, and he would be very much
happier if I were nearer at hand. He wants me to give up here at the
Harvard Med. and take up my work again at Denver or Salt Lake City or
somewhere out there. Even Chicago would seem much nearer, he says. It's
a pitiful sort of letter. The old chap see