Night after night, as he sat beside the fire and held baby, listening to the changed voice of his girl and watching the grave, new expressions of her face, the tooth of time took hold upon him powerfully, and he would feel his shaggy head and think, "I'll soon be gray, soon be gray!" while the little one cooed, and sprang, and pulled at his beard, which had grown long again and had white hairs in it. Kendall spent most of his time at the store, or downtown somewhere, and so all of those long, delicious winter evenings were Flaxen's and Anson's. And his enjoyment of them was pathetic. The cheerful little sitting-room, the open grate, the gracious, ever-growing womanliness of Elga, the pressure of soft little limbs, and the babble of a liquid baby language, were like the charm of an unexpected Indian-summer day between two gray November storms. CHAPTER XIV. KENDALL STEPS OUT. One night Kendall did not come home, but as he had been talking of going to St. Paul they were not disturbed about it--in fact, they both took but very mild interest in his coming or going. In the morning, while they were at breakfast, there came a knock at the door. "Come in," shouted Anson in the Western way, not rising. McDaniel, the county sheriff, entered. "Where's Kendall?" he asked without ceremony. "I don't know; went away yesterday." The sheriff looked at his companion. "Skipped between two days." "What's up?" asked Anson, while Elga stared and baby reached slyly for the sugar-bowl. "Nothing," the sheriff said in a tone which meant everything. "Come out here," he said to Anson. Anson went out with him, and he told him that Kendall had purchased goods on credit and gambled the money away, and was ruined. His stock of goods was seized, and the house was saved only through the firmness of Anson. Flaxen shut her lips and said nothing, and he could not read her silence. One day she came to him with a letter. "Read that!" she exclaimed scornfully. He saw that it was dated from Eau Claire, Wisconsin: Dear Darling Wife: I'm all right here with father. It was all Gregory's fault--he was always betting on something. I'm coming back as soon as the old man can raise the money to pay Fitch. Don't worry about me. They can't take the house, anyway. You might rent the house, sell the furniture on the sly, and come back here. The old man will give me another show. I don't owe more than a thousand dollars, anyway. Write soon. Your loving Will. She did not need to say what she thought of the advice the little villain gave. Anson went quietly on with his work, making a living for himself and Flaxen and baby. It never occurred to either of them that any other arrangement was necessary. Kendall wrote once or twice a month for a while, saying each time, "I'll come back and settle up," and asking her to come to him; but she did not reply, and never referred to him outside her home, and when others inquired after him she replied evasively: