“I’ve said the thing that’ll fetch her,” said Polly, chuckling to herself as she went on toward home. In truth, Polly had succeeded in arousing the girl’s curiosity, for the first question that she asked Jeanie when the two met was, “Have you heard from Archie lately?” “Yes,” said Jeanie, hesitatingly and with a quick, embarrassed glance at Agnes. “And is he doing well? Does he like Canonsburg?” “Yes;” then after a pause, “you haven’t heard from him, Agnes?” “Not a line.” Jeanie looked thoughtful. “You still insist that you do not care for Archie except as a friend? Is that so, Nancy? Did you keep to that when Archie left?” “Yes, and I still say so.” “Do you like Carter Ritchie?” “Oh, very much. We are good friends, too.” “He is very fond of gallanting around with the girls.” “Yes, and I think it is perfectly natural. There is safety in numbers, I tell him.” “Then you don’t mind?” “Oh, no.” “Would you mind if Archie did?” “Did what? Gallanted around with the girls? It isn’t his way, but if he did I should think--I mean if he were attentive to any one lass, I should think it meant something serious.” Jeanie laughed a little consciously. “It is strange what gossiping nonsense one hears. I don’t listen to it all, do you, Nancy?” “Why, I suppose I listen, but I don’t heed it always. What tale have you been hearing, Jeanie?” “Oh, nothing of any consequence. Tell me of your father, Nancy.” “He is steadily improving; the bandages are to be taken off to-morrow. There is no fever now, and the doctor thinks there is no further cause for anxiety; but he will not let father talk, and we cannot tell how far the trial has been successful.” “That is very good as far as it goes. Would you like me to stay and help to-night?” “No, thank you; there is no need. He sleeps well now, and Mrs. Hunter will be here.” “Then I will go back to my man. Come and see me as soon as you can. Every one is rejoicing that you are so well settled.” Agnes puzzled over the mystery which seemed to have arisen in Archie’s quarter; but she was too busy to think very long upon it, and told herself that she could afford to wait till some one should tell her what it all meant. The next day the bandages were removed, and for some days after the patient was kept very quiet and not allowed to talk much, but his eyes followed his wife as she moved about the room. There was a new expression of intelligence in them which the doctor was quick to note. It was one morning at early dawn that he said weakly, “Margaret.” Mrs. Kennedy came to the bedside and looked lovingly into the pale face. “Fergus, my man,” she said softly.