eer through another difficult day.

It was not the suspense alone: the strain of keeping the peace was
growing too much for her.

"Oh, DON'T quarrel with her, Richard, for my sake," she begged her
husband one night. "She means so well. And she can't help being like
she is--she has always been accustomed to order Mr. Beamish about. But
I wish she had never, never come," sobbed poor Polly. And Mahony, in a
sudden flash of enlightenment, put his arms round her, and made humble
promises. Not another word should cross his lips! "Though I'd like
nothing so well as to throw her out, and her bags and bundles after
her. Come, laugh a little, my Polly. Think of the old lady flying down
the slope, with her packages in a shower about her head!"

Rogers, M.D., looked in whenever he passed. At this stage he was of the
jocular persuasion. "Still an unwelcome visitor, ma'am? No little
tidbit of news for me to-day?" There he sat, twiddling his thumbs,
reiterating his singsong: "Just so!" and looking wise as an owl. Mahony
knew the air--had many a time seen it donned to cloak perplexity--and
covert doubts of Rogers' ability began to assail him. But then he fell
mentally foul of every one he came in touch with, at present: Ned, for
the bare-faced fashion in which he left his cheerfulness on the
door-mat; Mrs. Beamish for the eternal "Pore lamb!" with which she
beplastered Polly, and the antiquated reckoning-table she embarrassed
them by consulting.

However, this state of things could not last for ever, and at dawn, one
hot January day, Polly was taken ill.

The early hours promised well. But the morning wore on, turned to
midday, then to afternoon, and matters still hung fire. While towards
six o'clock the patient dismayed them by sitting up in bed, saying she
felt much better, and asking for a cup of tea. This drew: "Ah, my pore
lamb, you've got to feel worse yet afore you're better!" from Mrs.
Beamish.

It ended in Rogers taking up his quarters there, for the night.

Towards eleven o'clock Mahony and he sat, one on each side of the
table, in the little sitting-room. The heat was insupportable and all
three doors and the window were propped open, in the feeble hope of
creating a draught. The lamp had attracted a swarm of flying things:
giant moths beat their wings against the globe, or fell singed and
sizzling down the chimney; winged-ants alighted with a click upon the
table; blowflies and mosquitoes kept up a dizzy hum.

Fro