ing, which his
cousin had told him in a recent letter, of the fiery sensitive young
Negro doctor, who had worked his way through medical school, and
hospital-training, gone South to practise, and how he had been treated
by the white people in the town where he had settled. He wondered if she
hadn't exaggerated all that. But she gave such definite details. Perhaps
Mr. Crittenden knew something about that problem. Perhaps he had an idea
about that, too, that might be of help. He would ask him.

PART II

CHAPTER XI

IN AUNT HETTY'S GARDEN

I

June 10.

Marise bent to kiss the soft withered cheek. "Elly is a _real_
Vermonter, but I'm not. She can get along with just 'Hello, Aunt Hetty,'
but that's not enough for me," she said tenderly to the old woman; "I
have to kiss you."

"Oh, you can do as you like, for all of me," answered the other with an
unsparing indifference.

Marise laughed at the quality of this, taking the shaky old hand in hers
with a certainty of affection returned. She went on, "This is a regular
descent on you, Cousin Hetty. I've come to show you off, you and the
house and the garden. This is Mr. Welles who has settled next door to
us, you know, and this is Mr. Marsh who is visiting him for a time. And
here are the children, and Eugenia Mills came up from the city
last night and will be here perhaps, if she gets up energy after
her afternoon nap, and Neale is coming over from the mill after
closing hours, and we've brought along a basket supper and, if
you'll let us, we're going to eat it out in your garden, under
Great-great-grandmother's willow-tree."

Cousin Hetty nodded dry, though not uncordial greetings to the strangers
and said crisply, "You're welcome enough to sit around anywhere you can
find, and eat your lunch here, but where you're going to find anything
to show off, beats me."

"Mr. Welles is interested in gardens and wants to look at yours."

"Not much to look at," said the old lady uncompromisingly.

"I don't want to look at a _garden_!" clamored little Mark, outraged at
the idea. "I want to be let go up to Aunt Hetty's yattic where the sword
and 'pinning-wheel are."

"Would all you children like that best?" asked Marise.

Their old kinswoman answered for them, "You'd better believe they would.
You always did yourself. Run along, now, children, and don't fall on the
attic stairs and hurt yourselves on the wool-hetchels."

The fox-terrier, who had hung in an