There was anxiety in the drab house in College Street. The second day of Donald Morley's trial had come and no decision had been reached. Every ring of the telephone, every opening of the front door brought a hurrying of feet through the hall, and an eager demand to know if there was any news. “I'll never get my lessons!” exclaimed Hattie petulantly, collecting her scattered belongings after one of these rushes to the door. “I wish to Heaven one of my fingers was a lead pencil!” “Why don't you wish your tongue was one, Hat, then you wouldn't have to sharpen it,” suggested Connie. “I bet Miss Lady had my pencil,” went on Hattie, ignoring Connie's comment. “She's never owned a pair of scissors, or a pencil, or a shoe-buttoner since she's been here. And look at those letters on the mantel! She'll never think about mailing them.” “What are they doing with black borders?” “She bought a job lot of paper the other day, all colors and sizes, trying to be economical. She uses the mourning ones to pay the bills.” “Yes, and I'll have to be putting little pink love letters in big blue envelopes all winter. Say, Hat, do you suppose it would be all right if I called up Mr. Wicker to ask him how the trial is going?” “Of course not. We'll hear as soon as there is anything to hear. I wish you'd hush talking and let me study.” Connie heroically refrained from speech for five minutes, then she announced: “Do you know, I don't believe Miss Lady likes him!” “Who? Mr. Wicker?” “No, you silly,--Don.” “When did you stop saying Cousin Don, pray?” “Oh, ages ago. She's always so quiet when he comes, and she goes up-stairs the first chance she gets. I think she's changed a lot since she first came, don't you?” “Well, I guess you'd change, too, if you had married a sick man with three children, as poor as poverty, and a cook as cross as Myrtella.” “But she has Myrtella eating out of her hand. Imagine my marrying a man as old as Father!” “If I had to marry, I'd rather marry Father than anybody else. But I've never seen the man yet that I'd be willing to marry.” “Oh, I have! I know ten right now that I'd marry in a minute.” “Connie Queerington! Who are the others beside Gerald and Cousin Don?” “Guess.” “Noah Wicker?” Connie laughed. “Mr. Wicker is not as bad as he was. He must have taken chloroform and had his pompadour cut. Don says he is awfully clever.” “Anybody could be clever who took a whole day to compose each speech. I'll tell you what's the matter with Miss Lady; she is worrying herself sick over Father. Did she tell you what Doctor Wyeth told her?” “That Father would have to give up his classes, and get away some where? But of course he can't do it.” “But he can! Miss Lady has rented Thornwood from the man who bought it, and we are all to go out there this spring.” “Heavens! That means frogs and crickets and whippoorwills, and a lonesome time for me.”