ountry
school, and my little Mark went off this morning, for the first time,
with his brother and sister. I have been alone until you came." She
stopped for a moment. Mr. Welles wished that Vincent could get over his
habit of staring at people so. She went on, "I have felt very queer
indeed, all day. It's as though . . . you know, when you have been walking
up and up a long flight of stairs, and you go automatically putting one
foot up and then the other, and then suddenly . . . your upraised foot
falls back with a jar. You've come to the top, and, for an instant, you
have a gone feeling without your stairs to climb."

It occurred to Mr. Welles that really perhaps the reason why some nice
ladies did not like Vincent was just because of his habit of looking at
them so hard. He could have no idea how piercingly bright his eyes
looked when he fixed them on a speaker like that. And now Mrs.
Crittenden was looking back at him, and would notice it. _He_ could
understand how a refined lady would feel as though somebody were almost
trying to find a key-hole to look in at her,--to have anybody pounce on
her so, with his eyes, as Vincent did. She couldn't know, of course,
that Vincent went pouncing on ladies and baggagemen and office boys, and
old friends, just the same way. He bestirred himself to think of
something to say. "I wish I could get up my nerve to ask you, Mrs.
Crittenden, about one other person in this house," he ventured, "the old
woman . . . the old lady . . . who let us in the door."

At the sound of his voice Mrs. Crittenden looked away from Vincent
quickly and looked at him for a perceptible moment before she heard what
he had said. Then she explained, smiling, "Oh, she would object very
much to being labeled with the finicky title of 'lady.' That was Toucle,
our queer old Indian woman,--all that is left of old America here. She
belongs to our house, or perhaps I should say it belongs to her. She was
born here, a million years ago, more or less, when there were still a
few basket-making Indians left in the valley. Her father and mother both
died, and she was brought up by the old Great-uncle Crittenden's family.
Then my husband's Uncle Burton inherited the house and brought his bride
here, and Toucle just stayed on. She always makes herself useful enough
to pay for her food and lodging. And when his wife died an elderly
woman, Toucle still just stayed on, till he died, and then she went
right on staying here in