Later in the day she intercepted the doctor and learned as much as possible of the patient’s condition. Two ribs were badly broken, he said; had been pressed inward to a serious extent, but so far there were no indications of internal injuries. Of this, however, he could not at present be absolutely sure, but he thought there was no great cause for alarm. The patient, of course, must keep quiet for a week or two. Fortunately for Amos there proved to be no injury save the damaged ribs, but three long weeks elapsed before he was allowed to go up and down stairs and move about the house. The last day of August proved a day of discoveries. It was bright and warm, yet invigorating, the perfection of terrestrial weather, and Mr. Cabot and Molly, early in the afternoon, were sitting upon the piazza discussing the date of their departure, Amos occupying his favorite place upon the floor in front of them, his back against a column. When she informed her father that additional trunks or boxes of some kind would be needed, Amos said that such articles were going to waste in the Judd residence, and if she would but step across the way and select a few, it would be a lasting benefit to an overcrowded attic. This offer was accepted and they started off. After climbing the final stairs, which were steep and narrow, Molly seated herself upon an old-fashioned settle, the back of which could be lowered and used as an ironing table. “How I do love this smell of an attic! Is it the sap from the hot pine? And isn’t there sage in the air, or summer savory?” “Both. With a few old love-letters and a touch of dried apples.” “Whatever it is, I love it. The days of my childhood come galloping back,” and with upturned face she closed her eyes and drew a longer breath. He bent silently over and touched her lips. “What a breach of hospitality!” “When a visitor insults a host by sleeping in his presence, it is etiquette to awaken her. And when lips with those particular undulations look one pleasantly in the eye and say ‘Amos, kiss us,’ what do you expect to happen?” “From you I expect the worst, the most improper thing.” “And you will always get it, O spirit of old-fashioned Roses!” In opening a window he disturbed an enormous fly, whose buzzing filled every corner of the roof. “To me,” he said, “this atmosphere recalls long marches and battles, with splendid victories and awful defeats.” “I don’t see why. To me it seems delightfully restful.” From an ancient horse-hair trunk he brought forth a box, and seating himself at her feet, emptied its contents upon the floor. “This is why,” and he arranged in parallel lines the little leaden soldiers, diminutive cannons, some with wheels and some without, and a quantity of dominos, two by two. “These are troops, and if you care to know how I passed the rainy days of boyhood this will show you.” “But, what are the dominos?”