“Quite right,” said the Doctor emphatically. “The establishment of his good name should be his primary consideration. 'The purest treasure mortal times afford is spotless reputation.' I am more gratified than I can say that Donald is taking this course. He is justifying my persistent belief in his integrity. Once cleared by a jury the ghost of that unfortunate affair will, I trust, be laid forever.” “It is not so certain that he will be cleared,” Mr. Gooch said, taking his accustomed seat at the table, with a solicitous eye on the door where Myrtella would appear with the soup. “I shall do my best for him, but I have my doubts.” “You say he has been here a week?” the Doctor asked. “Strange he has not been in to see us. He was always fond of the children, and professed a certain regard, I believe, for me. I want him to meet Mrs. Queerington.” There was a pause, during which Noah Wicker turned a surprised glance upon the hostess. “I know Mr. Morley,” she said steadily, while the color mounted to her cheeks. “I knew him when he was with Noah at the farm.” “Indeed,” said the Doctor. “I must have forgotten your mentioning it. I am afraid, Mr. Wicker, we've been neglecting you to-night in our concern over Donald's problems. But it is a subject in which you are doubtless equally interested?” Noah started to reply, but realizing that the company was looking at him, forgot what he was going to say and bowed instead. At this juncture the thing of all others that Miss Lady dreaded, occurred. Donald Morley was announced by Myrtella in tones whose accents implied that nothing could now prevent the ice cream from giving out. “Well, well!” cried the Doctor, rising and greeting him with outstretched hand, “a hearty welcome home. You know everybody here, I believe? Even Mrs. Queerington tells me she has met you. And this is Hattie. I am quite sure you were not prepared to see her so tall.” Donald, retaining Hattie's hand, made the round of greetings. “Where are Connie and Bert?” “Connie is dressing for a party, and poor old Bert is struggling with the chickenpox,” Miss Lady managed to say as she busied herself with the coffee cups. “And now tell us about yourself,” said the Doctor, drawing a chair for Donald beside his own. “You will pardon my cushions, but I am still something of an invalid, and the little lady at the end of the table insists upon spoiling me. You knew, of course, of my accident, some two years ago?” “Not until I got home,” Donald said without looking up. “I hope you've gotten well again?” “Oh, no, I shall never be well. The physicians assured me of that from the first, but they also said that with care and proper conservation of my energies I would probably live to a ripe old age. I do not suppose you have ever had to resist the temptation to overwork, Donald?” Donald smiled and puckered his brow.