e he's in such a bad temper," said Victoria. "You must have put
him in it. It can't be possible that you came all the way up here to
quarrel with him. Nobody ever dares to quarrel with him."

"I didn't come up to quarrel with him," said Austen.

"What's the trouble?" asked Victoria.

The humour of this question was too much for him, and he laughed.
Victoria's eyes laughed a little, but there was a pucker in her forehead.

"Won't you tell me?" she demanded, "or must I get it out of him?"

"I am afraid," said Austen, slowly, "that you must get it out of him--if
he hasn't forgotten it."

"Forgotten it, dear old soul!" cried Victoria. "I met him just now and
tried to make him look at the new Guernseys, and he must have been
disturbed quite a good deal when he's cross as a bear to me. He really
oughtn't to be upset like that, Mr. Vane, when he comes up here to rest.
I am afraid that you are rather a terrible person, although you look so
nice. Won't you tell me what you did to him?"

Austen was non-plussed.

"Nothing intentional," he answered earnestly, "but it wouldn't be fair to
your father if I gave you my version of a business conversation that
passed between us, would it?"

"Perhaps not," said Victoria. She sat down on the flagstone with her
elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, and looked at him
thoughtfully. He knew well enough that a wise general would have
retreated--horse, foot, and baggage; but Pepper did not stir.

"Do you know," said Victoria, "I have an idea you came up here about Zeb
Meader."

"Zeb Meader!"

"Yes. I told my father about him,--how you rescued him, and how you went
to see him in the hospital, and what a good man he is, and how poor."

"Oh, did you!" exclaimed Austen.

"Yes. And I told him the accident wasn't Zeb's fault, that the train
didn't whistle or ring, and that the crossing was a blind one."

"And what did he say?" asked Austen, curiously.

"He said that on a railroad as big as his something of the kind must
happen occasionally. And he told me if Zeb didn't make a fuss and act
foolishly, he would have no cause to regret it."

"And did you tell Zeb?" asked Austen.

"Yes," Victoria admitted, "but I'm sorry I did, now."

"What did Zeb say?"

Victoria laughed in spite of herself, and gave a more or less exact
though kindly imitation of Mr. Meader's manner.

"He said that wimmen-folks had better stick to the needle and the duster,
and not go pokin' about law busi