but every move I makes meanwhile?"

"I aims ter dictate ter ye how often ye comes on this place--an' I
orders ye ter leave hit now. Thar's ther stile--an' ther highway's open
ter ye. Begone!"

"What's become of Bas?" inquired the young wife a few minutes later, and
her husband smiled with an artless and infectious good humour. "He hed
ter be farin' on," came his placid response, "an' he asked me ter bid ye
farewell fer him."

But to Bas Rowlett came the thought that if his own opportunities of
keeping a surveillance over that house were to be circumscribed, he
needed a watchman there in his stead.

In the first place, there was a paper somewhere under that roof bearing
his signature which prudence required to be purloined. So long as it
existed it hampered every move he made in his favourite game of
intrigue. Also he had begun to wonder whether any one save Caleb Harper
who was dead knew of that receipt he had given for the old debt. Bas had
informed himself that, up to a week ago, it had not been recorded at the
court house--and quite possibly the taciturn old man had never spoken of
its nature to the girl. Caleb had mentioned to him once that the paper
had been put for temporary safekeeping in an old "chist" in the attic,
but had failed to add that it was Dorothy who placed it there.

Then one day Bas met Aaron Capper on the highway.

"Hes Parish Thornton asked ye ter aid him in gittin' some man ter holp
him out on his farm this fall?" demanded the elder who, though he
religiously disliked Bas Rowlett, was striving in these exacting times
to treat every man as a friend. Bas rubbed the stubble on his chin
reflectively.

"No, he hain't happened ter name hit ter me yit," he admitted. "But
men's right hard ter git. They've all got thar own crops ter tend."

"Yes, I knows thet. I war jest a-ridin' over thar, an' hit come ter me
thet ye mout hev somebody in mind."

"I'd love ter convenience ye both," declared Bas, heartily, "but hit's a
right bafflin' question." After a pause, however, he hazarded the
suggestion: "I don't reckon ye've asked Sim Squires, hev ye? Him an' me,
we hain't got no manner of use for one another, but he's kinderly kin
ter _you_--an' he bears the repute of bein' ther workin'est man in this
county."

"Sim Squires!" exclaimed old Aaron. "I didn't nuver think of him, but I
reckon Sim couldn't handily spare ther time from his own farm. Ef he
could, though, hit would be mighty pleasin'."

"I