head, and Jim passed on. He loitered along the shaggy hedge which bordered the old Bolton estate, and a little farther, then turned back. He had reached the house again when he started. In front of the gate stood a shadowy figure, a woman, by the outlines of the dress. Jim continued hesitatingly. He feared to startle her. But he did not. When he came abreast of her, she turned and looked full in his face, and he recognized Miss Orr. He took off his hat, but was so astonished he could scarcely utter a greeting. The girl was so shy that she stammered a little, but she laughed too, like a child caught in some mischief.
“Oh, I am so glad it is you!” she said.
“Well, taking all things into consideration, so am I,” said Jim.
“You mean—?”
“I mean it is pretty late for you to be out alone, and I'm as good as a Sunday School picnic, with the superintendent and the minister thrown in, for you to meet. I'll see you home.”
“Goodness! There's nothing to be afraid of in this little place,” said the girl. “I have lived in New York.”
“Where there are policemen.”
“Oh, yes, but one never counts on that. One never counts on anything in New York. You can't, you know. Its mathematics are as high as its buildings, too high to take chances. But here—why, I saw pretty near the whole village at that funny fair, didn't I?”
“Well, yes, but Brookville is not a walled town. People not so desirable as those you saw at the fair have free entrance and egress. It is pretty late.”
“I am not in the least afraid,” said the girl.
“You have no reason to be, now.”
“You mean because you have happened along. Well, I am glad you did. I begun to think it was rather late myself for me to be prowling around, but you will simply have to leave me before I get to my boarding house. That Mrs. Black is as kind as can be, but she doesn't know what to make of me, and on the whole I think I would rather take my chances stealing in alone than to have her spy you.”
“If you wanted to come out, why didn't you ask the minister to come with you?” Jim asked bluntly.
“The minister! Oh, I don't like ministers when they are young. They are much better when all the doctrines they have learned at their theological seminaries have settled in their minds, and have stopped bubbling. However, this minister here seems rather nice, very young, but he doesn't give the impression of taking himself so seriously that he is a nervous wreck on account of his convictions. I wouldn't have asked him for the world. In the first place, Mrs. Black would have thought it very queer, and in the second place he was so hopping mad about that fair, and having me buy it, that he wouldn't have been agreeable. I don't blame him. I would feel just so in his place. It must be frightful to be a poor minister.”
“None too pleasant, anyway.”
“You are right, it certainly is not. I have been poor myself, and I know. I went to my room, and looked out of the window, and it was so perfectly beautiful outdoors, and I did want to see how this place looked by moonlight, so I just went down the back stairs and came alone. I hope nobody will break in while I am gone. I left the door unlocked.”
“No burglars live in Brookville,” said Jim. “Mighty good reasons for none to come in, too.”
“What reasons?”
“Not a blessed thing to burgle. Never has been for years.”
There was a silence. The girl spoke in a hushed voice. “I—understand,” said she, “that the people here hold the man who used to live in this house responsible for that.”
“Why, yes, I suppose he was. Brookville never would have been a Tuxedo under any circumstances, but I reckon it would have fared a little better if Mr. Bolton hadn't failed to see the difference between mine and thine. I was nothing but a kid, but I have heard a good deal about it. Some of the older people are pretty bitter, and some of the younger ones have it in their veins. I suppose the poor man did start us down hill.”
“You say ‘poor man’; why?” asked the girl and her voice trembled.
“Lord, yes. I'm like a hound sneaking round back doors for bones, on account of Mr. Bolton, myself. My father lost more than 'most anybody, but I wouldn't change places with the man. Say, do you know he has been in State's Prison for years?”
“Yes.”
“Of course any man who does wrong is a poor man, even if he doesn't get caught. I'm mighty glad I wasn't born bitter as some of the people here were. My sister Fanny isn't either. She doesn't have much, poor girl, but I've never heard her say one word, and mother never blames it on Mr. Bolton, either. Mother says he is getting his punishment, and it isn't for any of us to add to it.”
“Your sister was that pretty girl at the flower table?”
“Yes—I suppose you would call her pretty. I don't really know. A fellow never does know, when the girl is his sister. She may look the best of the bunch to him, but he's never sure.”
“She is lovely,” said Lydia Orr. She pointed to the shadowy house. “That must have been a nice place once.”
“Best in the village; show place. Say, what in the name of common sense do you want to buy it for?”
“Who told you?”
“Oh, I met old Whittle just before I met you. He told me. The place must be terribly run down. It will cost a mint of money to get it in shape.”
“I have considerable money,” stated the girl quite simply.
“Well, it's none of my business, but you will have to sink considerable in that place, and perhaps when you are through it won't be satisfactory.”
“I have taken a notion to it,” said the girl. She spoke very shyly. Her curiously timid, almost apologetic manner returned suddenly. “I suppose it does look strange,” she added.
“Nobody's business how it looks,” said Jim, “but I think you ought to know the truth about it, and I think I am more likely to give you information than Whittle. Of course he has an ax to grind. Perhaps if I had an ax to grind, you couldn't trust me.”
“Yes, I could,” returned the girl with conviction. “I knew that the minute I looked at you. I always know the people I can trust. I know I could not trust Deacon Whittle. I made allowances, the way one does for a clock that runs too fast or too slow. I think one always has to be doing addition or subtraction with people, to understand them.”
“Well, you had better try a little subtraction with me.”
“I don't have to. I didn't mean with everybody. Of course there are exceptions. That was a beautiful skin you gave me. I didn't half thank you.”
“Nonsense. I was glad to give it.”
“Do you hunt much?”
“About all I am good for except to run our little farm and do odd jobs. I used to work in the chair factory.”
“I shouldn't think you would have liked that.”
“Didn't; had to do what I could.”
“What would you like to do?”
“Oh, I don't know. I never had any choice, so I never gave it any thought. Something that would keep me out of doors, I reckon.”
“Do you know much about plants and trees?”
“I don't know whether I know much; I love them, that's all.”
“You could do some landscape gardening for a place like this, I should think.”
Jim stared at her, and drew himself up haughtily. “It really is late, Miss Orr,” he said. “I think, if you will allow me, I will take you home.”
“What