in the hay. I saw a man's leg stretched out as if he were lying on
the floor with his head toward the window. It was but a glimpse I got,
but the leg moved as I looked at it, and so I know that some one lies
hid in that little nook up under the roof. Now it isn't any one
belonging to the lane, for I know where every one of us is or ought to
be at this blessed moment; and it isn't a detective, for I heard a sound
like heavy sobbing as I crouched there. Then who is it? Silly Rufus, I
say; and if that hay was all lifted, we would see sights that would make
us ashamed of the apologies we uttered to the old sneak just now."

"I want to get home," said I. "Drive fast! Your sisters ought to know
this."

"The girls?" he cried. "Yes, it will be a triumph over them. They never
would believe I had an atom of judgment. But we'll show them, if William
Knollys is altogether a fool."

We were now near to Mr. Trohm's hospitable gateway. Coming from the
excitements of my late interview, it was a relief to perceive the genial
owner of this beautiful place wandering among his vines and testing the
condition of his fruit by a careful touch here and there. As he heard
our wheels he turned, and seeing who we were, threw up his hands in
ill-restrained pleasure, and came buoyantly forward. There was nothing
to do but to stop, so we stopped.

"Why, William! Why, Miss Butterworth, what a pleasure!" Such was his
amiable greeting. "I thought you were all busy at your end of the lane;
but I see you have just come from town. Had an errand there, I suppose?"

"Yes," William grumbled, eying the luscious pear Mr. Trohm held in his
hand.

The look drew a smile from that gentleman.

"Admiring the first fruits?" he observed. "Well, it is a handsome
specimen," he admitted, handing it to me with his own peculiar grace. "I
beg you will take it, Miss Butterworth. You look tired; pardon me if I
mention it." (He is the only person I know who detects any signs of
suffering or fatigue on my part.)

"I am worried by the mysteries of this lane," I ventured to remark. "I
hate to see Mother Jane's garden uprooted."

"Ah!" he acquiesced, with much evidence of good feeling, "it is a
distressing thing to witness. I wish she might have been spared.
William, there are other pears on the tree this came from. Tie up the
horse, I pray, and gather a dozen or so of these for your sisters. They
will never be in better condition for plucking than they are to-day."

W