Ethel Blue took no part in the historical program that Helen put on the stage of the Glen Point Orphanage on April 19th, "Patriots' Day," when Massachusetts folk celebrated the Revolutionary battle of Concord and Lexington. The reason was that she was just getting over a cold that had come upon her at the very time when the others were making ready for the performance, and had made her feel so wretched that she could do nothing outside of her school work. This was how it happened that she was sitting at the rear of the room when Edward Watkins came in, looked searchingly over the audience and then slipped into a chair beside her.

"Miss Merriam not here?" he murmured under cover of a duet that Dorothy and Della were playing on the piano.

"No."

"Do you know why she won't speak to me?"

Ethel Blue fairly trembled. What was she to say? She had been warned not to interfere in other people's affairs. Yet she did not know how to answer without telling the truth. So she said:

"I know how it began—her getting mad with you. I don't understand why."

"How did it begin?"

Ethel Blue looked about wildly. Dorothy and Della were thumping away vigorously. There was no possibility for escape.

"Mr. Clark told us—Ethel Brown and me—that you said you thought Miss Merriam was going away soon. We were wild, because we love her so—"

There was a strange mumble from the Doctor.

—"and she's so splendid with Ayleesabet. We asked her the minute we saw her if she was going away. She said she hadn't any idea of it and she asked us how we came to think so, and we told her what Mr. Clark had said."

"Great Scott! What did she say then?"

"Oh, Miss Gertrude and Aunt Louise said, 'why should Edward have said such a thing?' And Aunt Louise said, 'unless he wanted it to be true'."

"Ah, your Aunt Louise is a woman of intelligence!"

Edward smiled, though somewhat miserably. Ethel Blue was warming to her subject.

"Miss Gertrude said you were too sure and it was humiliating, and she went up stairs and she's never been the same since then. I don't know why it was humiliating, but she was angry right through."

"I've noticed that," said Edward reminiscently. "Now let me see just what she meant. She was told that I said I thought she was going away soon. 'Thought' or 'hoped'?"

"'Thought.' Did you say it?"

"And your Aunt Louise said that I must have wanted it to be true," went on Edward slowly, unheeding Ethel Blue's question. "And Gertrude—Miss Merriam said I was too sure and that it was humiliating. Is that straight?"

"Yes. Did you say it?"

Ethel Blue was beginning to think that if she was giving so much information she ought to be given a little in return.

"Do you know what I think about it?" asked Edward, again ignoring Ethel's question. "I don't wonder a bit that she was as mad as hops. Any girl would have been."

"Why?"

"Do you really want me to tell you? Well," continued Edward in her ear, "I dare say you've guessed that I'm in love with Miss Merriam."

Ethel drew a deep breath and stared open-mouthed at Dr. Watkins, who nodded at her gravely.

"I love her very much, and one day she was especially kind to me and I went walking down the street like a peacock and plumped right on to Mr. Clark. We walked along together and he said something about Miss Merriam, and I was jackass enough to say that I hoped—not thought, Ethel Blue, but hoped; do you see the difference?"

Ethel Blue nodded.

"I hoped that before long she would leave Rosemont. Don't you see, Ethel Blue? I said it out of the fullness of my heart because I hoped that before long she would marry me and go away."

Ethel gasped again.

"I was riding such a high horse that I hardly knew what I said, but I can see that when that was repeated to her with 'thought' instead of 'hoped' it looked as if I was mighty sure she was going to have me, and I hadn't even asked her. Yes, any girl would be indignant, wouldn't she?"

Edward scanned Ethel's face, hoping to find some comfort there, but there was none. Ethel's discomfiture and bewilderment had passed and she was putting an unusually acute mind on the situation. She understood perfectly that it looked to Miss Gertrude as if Dr. Watkins had made so sure that she returned his affection that he had gone about talking of it to strangers even before he had told her of his own love.

"I don't wonder that she felt humiliated," was Ethel's verdict.

The program on the stage was going on swiftly. Helen had made the historical introduction, telling the circumstances that led to the affair of April 19th. Tom had recited "Paul Revere's Ride."

It was while the whole Club was singing some quaint Revolutionary songs and winding up with "Yankee Doodle" that Dr. Watkins made his appeal to Ethel Blue.

"She won't listen to a word from me," he said. "She won't let me speak to her. Do you think you could find a chance to tell her how it was? It was bad enough but it wasn't as bad as she thinks. Will you tell her I'd like to apologize before I go to Oklahoma?"

"Oklahoma!"

"A friend of Dr. Hancock's is settled in a flourishing town there. He has a bigger practice than he can attend to, and he sent East for Dr. Hancock to find him an assistant. He has offered the chance to me."

"But it's so far away!"

"I hesitated a long while on that account. You see I didn't know whether Miss Merriam would care for the West."

"Weren't you taking a good deal for granted?"

"You're finding me guilty just as she has. But of course a man has to think about what he has to offer a wife. I suppose you think I'm queer to talk about this with you," he broke off his story to say, "but I haven't said a word about it to any one and it has been driving me wild so it's a great relief if you'll let me talk."

Ethel nodded.

"You see, my practice in New York is so small it's ridiculous. You can't ask a girl to marry you when you aren't making enough money to support even yourself. But suppose I should go to Oklahoma where I shall soon make a good living, and then come back and ask her, and find out that she hates the West. Don't you see that I'm not all to blame?"

"Perhaps she wouldn't like you enough to marry you no matter where you lived," suggested Ethel.

Edward heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots and leaned back weakly in his chair.

"There's a certain brutal frankness about you, Ethel Blue, that I never suspected."

"I thought you were thinking about all sides of the question," Ethel defended herself.

"Um, yes. I suppose I must admit that there is that possibility. Any way if you'll try to get her to let me talk to her I'll be grateful to you evermore," and Edward got up and strolled away to compliment the participants in the program, leaving Ethel Blue more excited than she had ever been in her life, even just before she went up in an aeroplane, because she was touching the edges of an adventure in real life.

It was embarrassing to broach the subject to Miss Merriam. She was sweetness itself, but she was dignified to a degree that forbade any encroachment upon her private affairs, and twice when Ethel Blue's lips were actually parted to plead in Edward's behalf her courage failed her.

"Mr. Clark is deaf," said Ethel Blue abruptly. "Edward Watkins didn't say he 'thought' you were going away; he said he 'hoped' you were going away."

"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Gertrude, turning a startled face toward Ethel.

"He hoped so because he loves you and he wants to ask you to marry him but he can't until he has a good practice, and he doesn't know whether you would like Oklahoma."

"Whether I'd like Oklahoma!" repeated Gertrude slowly.

"He wants to explain it all to you but you won't let him speak to you. He's had a good practice offered him in Oklahoma, but he won't go if you don't like Oklahoma; he'll try to work up a practice here, but it will take such a long time."

"Ethel Blue, do you really know what you're talking about?"

"Yes, Miss Gertrude," replied Ethel, blushing uncomfortably, but keeping on with determination. "Please don't think I'm awful, 'butting in' like this. Dr. Watkins asked me to ask you to let him see you. He tried a long time without telling any one; he told me when he couldn't think of anything else to do. He didn't really know why you were mad until I told him; he just knew you wouldn't see him when he called."

Miss Gertrude's eyes were on her fragile pink work as Ethel Blue blundered on.

"What shall I tell him?" she said, breaking the silence.

"You may tell him," said Gertrude slowly, "that I have a school friend in Oklahoma who tells me that Oklahoma is a very good place to live."

Ethel Blue clapped her hands noiselessly.

"But tell him, also," Gertrude went on, her blue eyes stern, "that I shall be too busy to see him before he goes."

"Oh, Miss Gertrude!" ejaculated Ethel, disappointed. "I don't quite know whether you care or not."

"Neither do I," replied Gertrude, and she leaned over and kissed Ethel Blue with lips that smiled sadly.