ile
there is the necessity, and then realize the strain only when the need
is past? Joan says only 'coming home,' but I know as surely as I ever
knew anything that it has been for the best and she is coming gladly to
me--coming home! I could not have endured the silence much longer."

Martin put his arm around Doris and led her to the hearth. A mild little
fire was crackling cheerfully, rather shyly, between the tall jars of
dogwood that seemed to question the necessity of the small blaze.

"Davey, I want to talk to you. There are so many things to say if you
are absent twenty-four hours. How goes the cabin?"

"Like magic. It will be livable by June or before. The men like to have
me pothering around, and I've discovered that one never really has a
house unless he helps build it. I'm going to get Bud down the minute I
can put a bed up. And, Doris----"

"Yes, Davey."

"I've been eavesdropping, I've been here a half hour. I heard what Nancy
said--let the child have her wish!"

"You feel that way, David? I had hoped to have everything rather
splendid--to make up for what I could not do for--Merry."

"All stuff and nonsense! Give the girl her head. She knows her path and
will not make mistakes. What she wants is Raymond and her own life.
Nancy is simple and direct; no complications about her. Don't make any
for her."

"David, her happiness and peace almost frighten me. You remember how she
drooped last summer? Taking her to New York has done more than give her
love and happiness. She is quite another girl, so resourceful and clear
visioned."

"She's on her own trail, Doris, that's all. Things are right with Nancy.
The rule holds."

"But, David, I have not told her yet----"

"Told her?--oh! I see--about the birth mix-up?"

Martin smiled--he always did when the subject was referred to. The
humour and daring of it had never lost their zest.

"It is no laughing matter, Davey; as the time draws near when I must
tell I am in a kind of panic. I always thought it would be easy; if it
had been right why should I know this fear?"

Martin was serious enough now. He folded his arms and leaned back in his
chair--he held Doris with his calm gray eyes.

"It seems to me," he spoke thoughtfully, "that you should stand by your
guns. You did what you did from the highest motives; you have succeeded
marvellously--why upset the kettle of fish, my dear?"

Doris's face softened.

"I think if I had committed murder," she said