Peter Mixon's unlucky and disreputable head had been pretty severely battered by his accident; and for several days he remained, as his wife lucidly said, "unsensible." This delirium had passed away, but Dr. Sanford had little hope of the patient's recovery. Bathalina hung over her husband's bed in an agony of late and needless remorse, lamenting that her "sinful pride" had come to this; although the connection was by no means apparent. She sang "Death-bed Reflections" so constantly, that at last Will Sanford threatened her with instant death if he heard another syllable of that doleful hymn. She labored with Peter in regard to his spiritual condition, continually begging him to let her read aloud from the Scriptures.

"You told me you was a Methodist," she said reproachfully; "but either you lied, or you're fallen from grace. You'd better let me read a chapter: it may arouse your conscience."

"Read, then, if you want to," he said one day, too feeble to resist.

"Where shall I read?" she asked delightedly, giving her Bible a preparatory scrub with her apron.

"Oh!" he answered weakly, "read about David and Goliath: that's as lively a chapter as any I know of."

"Peter Mixon!" cried Bathalina, "don't be blasphemous on your death-bed! But it is a just reward for my sinful pride that I should be the widow of an unbeliever."

Both Patty and Flossy were frequent in their visits to the sick man. He seemed grateful, in his rough way, for their kindness, and would brighten up as they entered the chamber. Particularly he seemed pleased to have Patty about him, and would take from her hand the medicine which no persuasions of his wife could induce him to swallow.

"He takes to you wonderful," Bathalina said: "I don't think he's so bad at heart."

"I noticed the other day," Mrs. Sanford remarked, overhearing her, "that he has a mole on the left side of his chin, and that's a sure sign of goodness. Not so good as on the right side; but I don't doubt he's right-hearted in the main."

Patty occupied herself more with the invalid, because of her mental uneasiness. There is no refuge for unhappiness but labor. Hazard Breck had returned to college; and, before leaving, he called to bid her good-by.

"I perhaps ought not to speak of it," he said hesitatingly, as he rose to go; "but you look very unhappy nowadays, Patty."

"Do I? It must be your fancy. I don't have a mournful thought from one year's end to another. Sentimentalizing isn't in my line."

"I fear it is in mine," he said. "The summer has been a very bitter-sweet one to me. I am glad it is done."

"It is you who are sad," she said, bravely smiling. "You look at me through colored glasses. I am gay as a lark."

"I wish I believed it," he returned.

The pain of a boy's first love, although less fleeting than the bliss, is fortunately also transient. His love and regret were very real to Hazard. He was conscious that Patty did not love him; but he believed that his boyish passion would be eternal, and life for him henceforth only desolation. That we shall some day smile at a fancy makes the present pain none the less poignant.

"You will come back at Christmas, won't you?" Patty said, wishing to divert the conversation.

"No, I think not; but, if I do, I hope you won't look as solemn as you do now."

"Solemn? Nonsense! I'm as merry as a cricket. Where is your brother to-day?"

"He rode over to Samoset with uncle Tom this morning. They won't be back till evening."

After her caller had gone, Patty turned back into the parlor, and looked at her face in the glass.

"I do look like Death's second wife," she soliloquized. "If I could only have a tremendous cry, and get over it, I might feel better, I suppose; but I can't: so there's an end of it. I'll go and see that wretched old Peter instead. I think I shall eventually go as a missionary, and nurse sick cannibals until they get well enough to cook and eat me. Heigh-ho! What a wretched old Peter it is, to be sure! At least I'm thankful to him for giving me something to do. Poor Hazard, I wish I were half as good as he is! Patty Sanford, you are a fool! Go and see that dilapidated Mixon this minute!"

Her shortest way to the house of Mrs. Brown was through the Putnam fields; and to-day, being sure that the lawyer was absent, she started in this direction. Meanwhile a whimsical fate had conducted to the Castle in Air another woman. This visitor came slowly over the brown fields, passing along the bank of the brook, stopping now and then to bite into a rose-hip, or chew the bark from some tender twig. It was Mrs. Smithers, the woman who had summoned Putnam to Samoset, and who had lately come to live in the stone cottage. This woman, who among people had a restless, constrained manner, here moved with a free, elastic step and bearing. Her childhood had been passed in the neighborhood of Montfield; and Hannah Clemens had grown up as lovely as a wild rose. Her sister Bathalina seemed to have absorbed all the ugliness of the family, and to have gone on her half-witted way honestly and contentedly, leaving to the elder her fatal dowry of beauty, wit, and unhappiness. In an evil day Mr. Mullen saw the beautiful, ambitious girl; and to his wealth she yielded only too readily. Never loving him, she had yet the art to fascinate him, until, after the death of his wife, he had been ready to marry her. Her own infatuation for a new lover, the father of the Breck boys, had made her refuse the hand of Mr. Mullen. Outliving both her lovers, who died nearly at the same time, Mrs. Smithers, as, with a slight concession to morality, she called herself, wandered about the country, seldom content to remain for long in one place. Her natural restlessness was increased by her habitual use of opium; and a habit of morose sullenness had grown upon her. Shunned by all her kindred, it was perhaps strange that she should have chosen to return to her native village. She went out chiefly at night; and, having discovered that from the Castle in Air could be seen the tower of Mullen House, often came on moonlight evenings to view the mansion she steadily persisted in calling her own. To-day, having seen Putnam drive away, she ventured to come by daylight; and she descended the ladders just as Patty had crossed the bridge on her way to Mrs. Brown's. The latter walked on composedly, until, at the foot of the elm, Mrs. Smithers blocked her path.

"Well," Mrs. Smithers said, after examining the face of the other a moment in silence, "what do you want? You'll know me another time, I hope."

"Will you let me pass, please," Patty replied coldly.

"So! No: I won't let you pass till I'm ready. I'd like to look at you a while. I've seen you before."

She placed her arms akimbo as she spoke, and stared at Patty, who stood quiet.

"So!" she said at last. "What are you on these premises for? What do you want? Are you after your rights too?"

There was no further motive in the woman's actions at the moment than a wild desire to vent her rage upon any one who offered. As Patty changed color, however, a sudden devilish inspiration darted like the whisper of an evil spirit through Mrs. Smithers's opiumized brain. Completely ignorant of the relations between Patty and Putnam, she understood that her words had been misconceived. By chance she had hit between the joints of the harness. Patty had refused to listen to the insinuations of her mother and Mrs. Brown, who coupled what was known of the character of the new tenant of the stone cottage and her mysterious relations with the lawyer, much to the discredit of that gentleman. Now this woman seemed herself to confirm the slander; and it was no wonder that Patty grew pale.

"So!" Mrs. Smithers said again, seizing the chance to calumniate the man she hated none the less because he had remained unmoved by her fascinations. "So! We know what we know of Tom Putnam. Humph!"

"Will you stand out of my way?" Patty said.

This calmness enraged the woman before her as no violence could have done. She caught Patty forcibly by the wrists.

"So!" she screamed. "You'll hear nothing! I've seen them has held their heads as high as you, and been brought low enough, after all. Do you think, miss, I'm to be ordered out of your way like a dog, when, if I had my rights, there's nobody in this d——d town'd dare queen it over me! So! I'll"—

But Patty wrenched herself free, and ran swiftly towards the street. The other did not follow, but stood cursing, until a turn hid the girl from her sight.