ause she had sprained her ankle for the sake of having Tom Tracy
bring her home, hoping he would keep calling to see her, and thus give
her a chance to rope him in, which she never could as long as the world
stood.

'Neither you nor Bill will ever marry, with all your money, unless you
take up with a cobbler, and he with a washwoman,' was his farewell
remark, as he finally left the house about three o'clock and started for
the village, where he had some of his own witnesses to see before taking
the train for Springfield at five.

His wife had ventured to suggest that he go in a carriage, as it was so
warm, but he had answered, savagely:

'Go to thunder with your carriage and coat-of-arms! What good have they
ever done us only to make folks laugh at us for a pack of fools? Nothing
under heaven gives us a h'ist, and I'm just goin' to quit the folderol
and pad it on foot, as I used to when I was cap'n of the 'Liza Ann--durn
it!'

And so, with his bag in his hand, he started rapidly down the road in
the direction of Shannondale. But the sun was hot, and he was hot, and
his bag was heavy, and, cursing himself for a fool that he had not taken
the carriage, he finally struck into the park as a cooler, if a longer,
route to the station.

As he came near the Tramp House, which gave no sign of its sleeping
occupant, something impelled him to look in at the door. And this he did
with a thought of Jerrie in his heart, though with no suspicion that she
was there; and when he saw her he started suddenly, and uttered an
exclamation of surprise, which roused her from her heavy slumber.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, shedding back her golden hair from her flushed face
and lifting her eyes to him; but whatever else she might have said was
prevented by his outburst of passion, which began with the question:

'Do you know what you have done?'

Jerrie looked at him wonderingly, but made no reply, and he went on:

'Yes, do you know what you have done?--you, a poor, unknown girl, who,
but for the Tracys, would have gone to the poor-house sure as guns,
where you orter have gone! Yes, you orter. You refuse my Bill! you, who
hain't a cent to your name; and all for that sneak of a Harold, who will
swear agin me to-morrer. I know he's at the root on't, though Bill
didn't say so, and I hate him wuss than pizen; he, who has been at the
wheel in my shop and begged swill for a livin'! he to be settin' up for
a gentleman and a cuttin' out my Bill, who