“Of course not, you goose! Do you suppose he’d have come back home alone, if it had been anything like that?” Ellen heaved a sigh of exaggerated relief. “‘Be still, my heart’!” she murmured. “No; they went to get somebody from somewhere,” pursued Fanny. “To get somebody from somewhere,” repeated Ellen impatiently. “How thrilling! Who do you suppose it was?” Fanny shook her head: “I haven’t the slightest idea.” “How perfectly funny! ...Is the somebody there, now?” “I don’t know. Jim won’t tell me a thing that goes on there. He says if there’s anything on top of the earth he absolutely despises it’s a gossiping man. He says a gossiping woman is a creation of God—must be, there’s so many of ’em; but a gossiping man—he can’t find any word in the dictionary mean enough for that sort of a low-down skunk.” Ellen burst into hysterical laughter. “What an idea!” she gasped. “Oh, but he’s almost too sweet to live, Fan. Somebody ought to take him down a peg or two. Fan, if he proposes to that girl, I hope she won’t have him. ’Twould serve him right!” “Perhaps she won’t marry anybody around here,” mused Fanny. “Did you ever notice she wears a thin gold chain around her neck, Ellen?” Ellen nodded. “Perhaps there’s a picture of somebody on it.” “I shouldn’t wonder.” Ellen impatiently kicked a big apple out of her way, to the manifest discomfiture of two or three drunken wasps who were battening on the sweet juices. “I’ve got to go back to the house,” she said. “Mother’ll be looking for me.” “But, Ellen—” “Well?” “You said you knew something—” Ellen yawned. “Did I?” “You know you did, Ellen! Please—” “’Twasn’t much.” “What was it?” “Oh, nothing, only I met the minister coming out of Lydia Orr’s house one day awhile ago, and he was walking along as if he’d been sent for— Never even saw me. I had a good mind to speak to him, anyway; but before I could think of anything cute to say he’d gone by—two-forty on a plank road!” Fanny was silent. She was wishing she had not asked Ellen to tell. Then instantly her mind began to examine this new aspect of her problem. “He didn’t look so awfully pleased and happy,” Ellen went on, “his head was down—so, and he was just scorching up the road. Perhaps they’d been having a scrap.” “Oh, no!” burst from Fanny’s lips. “It wasn’t that.” “Why, what do you know about Wesley Elliot and Lydia Orr?” inquired Ellen vindictively. “You’re a whole lot like Jim—as close-mouthed as a molasses jug, when you don’t happen to feel like talking.... It isn’t fair,” she went on crossly. “I tell you everything—every single thing; and you just take it all in without winking an eyelash. It isn’t fair!” “Oh, Ellen, please don’t—I can’t bear it from you!” Fanny’s proud head drooped to her friend’s shoulder, a stifled sob escaped her. “There now, Fan; I didn’t mean a word of it! I’m sorry I told you about him—only I thought he looked so kind of cut up over something that maybe— Honest, Fan, I don’t believe he likes her.”