"Feelin' real smart, be ye?" asked Mr. Ithuriel Butters. "Wal, I'm pleased to hear it."

Mr. Butters sat in the young doctor's second armchair, and looked at him with friendly eyes. His broad back was turned to the window, but Geoffrey faced it, and the light showed his face pale, indeed, but full of returning health and life; his arm was still in a sling, but his movements otherwise were free and unrestrained.

"You're lookin' fust-rate," said Mr. Butters. "Some different from the last time I see ye."

"I wonder what would have become of me if you had not happened along just then, Mr. Butters," said Geoffrey. "I think I owe you a great deal more than you are willing to acknowledge."

"Nothin' at all; nothin' at all!" said the old man, briskly. "I h'isted ye up out the ro'd, that was all; I sh'd have had to h'ist jest the same if ye'd be'n a critter or a lawg, takin' up the hull ro'd the way ye did."

"And how about bringing me home, three miles out of your way, and carrying me up-stairs, and all that? I suppose you would have done all that for a critter, eh?"

"Wal—depends upon the value of the critter!" said Mr. Butters, with a twinkle. "I never kep' none of mine up-stairs, but there's no knowin' these days of fancy stock. No, young man! if there's anybody for you to thank, it's that young woman. Now there's a gal—what's her name? I didn't gather it that day."

"Vesta—Miss Vesta Blyth."

"I want to know! my fust wife's name was Vesty; Vesty Barlow she was; yes, sir. I do'no' but I liked her best of any of 'em. Not but what I've had good ones since, but 'twas different then, seems' though. She was the ch'ice of my youth, ye see. Yes, sir; Vesty is a good name, and that's a good gal, if I know anything about gals. She's no kin to you, she said."

"No; none whatever."

"Nor yet you ain't keepin' company with her?"

"No-o!" cried Geoffrey, wincing.

"Ain't you asked her?"

"No! please don't—"

"Why not?" demanded Mr. Butters, with ample severity.

Geoffrey tried to laugh, and failed. "I—I can't talk about these things, Mr. Butters."

"Don't you want her?" the old man went on, pitilessly. Geoffrey looked up angrily; looked up, and met a look so kind and true and simple, that his anger died, still-born.

"Yes!" he said. "God knows I do. But you are wholly mistaken in thinking—that is—she wouldn't have me."

"I expect she would!" said Ithuriel Butters. "I expect that is jest what she would have. I see her when you was layin' there, all stove up; you might have be'n barrel-staves, the way you looked. I see her face, and I don't need to see no more."

Geoffrey tried to say something about kindness and womanly pity, but the strong old voice bore him down.

"I know what pity looks like, and I know the other thing. She's no soft-heart to squinch at the sight of blood, and that sort of foolery. Tell ye, she was jest as quiet and cool as if 'twas a church sociable, and she set that bone as easy and chirk as my woman would take a pie out the oven; but when she had you all piecened up, and stood and looked at you—wal, there!"

"Don't! I cannot let you!" cried Geoffrey. His voice was full of distress; but was it the western sun that made his face so bright?

"Wal, there's all kinds of fools," said Mr. Butters. "Got the teethache?"

"Toothache? no! why?"

"Thought you hollered as if ye had. How would you go to work to cure the teethache now, s'posin' you had it?"

"I should go to a dentist, and let him cure it for me."

"S'posin' you lived ten mile from a dentist, young feller? you're too used to settin' in the middle of creation and jerkin' the reins for the hoss to go. Jonas E. Homer had the teethache once, bad."

He paused.

"Well," said the young doctor, "who was Jonas E. Homer, and how did he cure his toothache?"

"Jonas Elimelech was his full name," said Mr. Butters, settling himself comfortably in his chair. "He's neighbour to me, about five miles out on the Buffy Landin' ro'd. Yes, he had the teethache bad. Wife wanted him to go and have 'em hauled, but he said he wouldn't have no feller goin' fishin' in his mouth. No, sir! he went and he bored a hole in the northeast side of a beech-tree, and put in a hair of a yaller dawg, and then plugged up the hole with a pine plug. That was ten years ago, and he's never had the teethache sence. He told me that himself."

"It's a good story," said the young doctor. "Do you believe it, Mr.
Butters?"

"Wal, I do'no' as I exactly believe it; I was sort of illustratin' the different kinds of fools there was in the world, that's all."

They were silent. The sun went down, but the light stayed in the young doctor's face.

* * * * *

There was a commotion in the room below. Voices were raised, feminine voices, shrill with excitement. Then came a bustle on the stairs, and the sound of feet; then one voice, breathless but decided.

"I tell ye, I know the way. There's no need to show me, and I won't have it. I haven't been up these stairs for near seventy years, Phoebe, since the day of your caudle-party, but I know the way as well as you do, and I'll thank you to stay where you are."

The next moment the door opened, and Mrs. Tree stood on the threshold, panting and triumphant. Her black eyes twinkled with affection and malice. "Well, young sir!" she said, as Geoffrey ran to give her his sound arm, and led her in, and placed her in the seat of honour. "Fine doings since I last saw you! Humph! you look pretty well, considering all. Who's this? Ithuriel Butters! How do you do, Ithuriel? I haven't seen you for forty years, but I should know you in the Fiji Islands."

"I should know you, too, anywhere, Mis' Tree!" responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "I'm rejoicin' glad to see ye."

"You wear well, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree, kindly. "If you would cut all that mess of hair and beard, you would be a good-looking man still; but I didn't come here to talk to you."

She turned to Geoffrey in some excitement. "I'll speak right out," she said. "Now's now, and next time's never. I've let the cat out of the bag. Phoebe has found out about little Vesta's setting your arm and all, and she's proper mad. Says she'll send the child home to-morrow for good and all. She's getting on her shoes this minute; I never could abide those morocco shoes. She'll be up here in no time. I thought I'd come up first and tell you."

She looked eagerly at the young doctor; but his eyes were fixed on the window, and he scarcely seemed to hear her. Following his gaze, she saw a white dress glimmering against the soft dusk of the garden shrubs.

The young doctor rose abruptly; took one step; paused, and turned to his guest of ninety years with a little passionate gesture of appeal "I—cannot leave you," he said; "unless—just one moment—"

"My goodness gracious me!" cried Mrs. Tree. "Go this minute, child; run, do you hear? I'll take care of Ithuriel Butters. He was in my Sunday-school class, though he's only five years younger than me. Take care and don't fall!"

The last words were uttered in a small shriek, for apparently there had been but one step to the staircase.

Breathless, the old woman turned and faced the old man. "Have you got any bumblebees in your pocket this time, Ithuriel?" she asked.

"No,'m," said Ithuriel, soberly. Then they both stared out of the window with eyes that strove to be as young as they were eager.

[Illustration: "Then he comes, full chisel!" cried Ithuriel Butters.]

"There he comes, full chisel!" cried Ithuriel Butters. "She don't see him. He's hollerin' to her. She's turned round. I tell ye—he's grabbed holt of her hand! he's grabbed holt of both her hands! he's—"

Who says that heroism dies with youth? Marcia Tree raised her little mitted hand, and pulled down the blind.

"It's no business of yours or mine what he's doing, Ithuriel Butters!" she said, with dignity.

Then she began to tremble. "Seventy years ago," she said, "Ira Tree proposed to me in that very garden, under that very syringa-tree. I've been a widow fifty years, Ithuriel, and it seems like yesterday." And a dry sob clicked in her throat.

"I've buried two good wives," said Mr. Butters, "and my present one seems to be failin' up some. I hope she'll live now, I reelly do."

* * * * *

"Vesta!" Miss Phoebe's voice rang sharp and shrill through the house. Miss Vesta started. She was at her evening post in the upper hall. The lamp was lighted, the prayer had been said.

"Dear Lord, I beseech thee, protect all souls at sea this night; for
Jesus Christ's sake. Amen!"

But Miss Vesta was not watching the sea this time. Her eyes, too, were bent down upon the twilight garden. The lamplight fell softly there, and threw into relief the two figures pacing up and down, hand in hand, heart in heart. Miss Vesta could not hear, and would not if she could have heard, the words her children were saying; her heart was lifted as high as heaven, in peace and joy and thankfulness, and the words that sounded in her ear were spoken by a voice long silent in death.

"Vesta!"

Miss Phoebe's voice rang sharp and shrill through the silent house.
Instinct and habit answered the call at once. "Yes, Sister Phoebe!"

"Stay where you are! I am coming to you. I have discovered—"

The figures below paused full in the lamplight. Two faces shone out, one all on fire with joy and wonder, the other sweet and white as the white flower at her breast.

Miss Phoebe's morocco shoes creaked around the corner of the passage.

"Good Lord, forgive me, and save all souls at sea just the same!" said
Miss Vesta; and she blew out the lamp.

*****

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