"Indade I did, Miss, in foine style, sure"--and he spoke softly to Hazel--"he got it right betwix the two eyes, and I followed it wid wan on the soule ave his plexis." "You did!" Hazel exclaimed, amazed, yet with an irrepressible smile that flickered about her pretty mouth. "I did!" he replied gravely. "Is the soul of one's plexus in his eyes, Smith?" interrogated Hazel. "Sure, some say it do be the cramps; but I think it do be trouble ave the bowels, Miss," he answered. "Poor man!" exclaimed Constance, and she looked at Smith reproachfully. He quickly turned to her with a disgusted look on his face, and slowly exclaimed, "Yis mam!" During the silence that followed Smith realized that he had spoken hastily and rude, and the disgust so palpably in evidence quickly merged into a look of grave concern. His native wit, however, came to his aid in a singular apology. "While the fellow hunted for a soft spot on the pavement, I called up a nearby doctor to help him," he said. "You shall be repaid," Constance assured him in an absent manner. "Plaise God, it will not be the 'dago' who'll do it!" he solemnly replied, and then he softly asked. "Be there any more arders, mam?" "No, Smith, you must be in need of rest. Thank you for all your kindness," and Constance turned from him with grief, unaffected, still on her face. "God bless yees!" he replied, and then as he turned to leave the room, said to himself, "I shud loike to see the wan--bad luck to him--who brought all this trouble on the poor missus," and he shut his teeth tight in silent rage. After he had gone Constance pressed her hand down on the top of her head and said distractedly, "Still no word of encouragement; no relief to this strain that seems to be tearing my brain asunder!" Under the circumstances, inaction, to one of Hazel's temperament, was anything but pleasant, and the young girl was to be condoned rather than censured for desiring to get away from the distress that pervaded the house. Moreover, she felt that something must be done to relieve the strain that weighed so heavily upon Constance. "Don't you think I had better see Mrs. Harris, dear?" she said, with a wistful look of sympathy at Constance. "Perhaps she may have something to tell." "Very well," replied Constance. "Do, dear, if you think some good may come from your visit. Virginia may be home soon and I shall not be alone." "I shall get my wraps." After Hazel had left the room, Constance, dispirited and sadly out of harmony with Smith's simple recital of his search for Dorothy, stepped out on the piazza, as though the air of the close room oppressed her. The sky was cloudy, the air raw and cold. Dorothy's pet canary, with its bill thrust under its wing, rested on the perch of its cage, glum and inert, immediately before her. "Poor thing!" she exclaimed tenderly. "Sweet, sweet! Look up, pet!"