"Good God!" Northrup shook himself. "What's got us two? We've worked ourselves into a pretty state. Talking as, as if--Mary-Clare, I'm not going away. There will be other days. It's that book of mine. Hang it! We've got snarled in the book." The weak efforts to ignore everything failed pitifully. "No, it is life." Mary-Clare grew grim as Northrup relaxed. "But I want you always to remember my old doctor's rule. If a thing is going to kill you, die bravely; if it isn't, get over it at once and live the best you can." "God bless and keep you, Mary-Clare." Absolute surrender marked the tone. "He will!" "But this is not good-bye!" "No, it is not good-bye." CHAPTER XII While the days were passing and Mary-Clare and Northrup, with the book between them as a shield, fought their battle and won their victory, they had taken small heed of the undercurrent that was not merely carrying them on, but bearing others, also. Northrup was comfortably conscious of Aunt Polly and old Peter, at the days' ends. The sense of going home to them was distinctly a joy, a fitting and safe interlude. Noreen and Jan-an supplied the light-comedy touch, for the two were capable of supplying no end of fun when there were hours that could not be utilized in work or devoted to that thrilling occupation of walking the trails with Mary-Clare. The real, sordid tragedy element played small part in the autumn idyl, but it was developing none the less. Larry on the Point was showing more patient persistence than one could have expected. He went about Maclin's business with his usual reticence and devotion; occasionally he was away for a few days; when he was at home in Peneluna's shack he was a quiet, rather pathetic figure of a man at loose ends, but casting no slurs. It was that pacific attitude of his that got on the nerves of his doubters and those who believed they understood him. Peneluna, torn between her loyalty to Mary-Clare and the decency she felt called upon to show the old doctor's son, was becoming irritable and jerky. Jan-an shrank from her and whimpered: "What have I done? Ain't I fetching and carrying for him?"--she nodded heavily toward Larry's abiding place. "Ain't I watching and telling yer all that he does? Writing and tearing up what he writes! Ain't I showing you his scraps what don't get burned? Ain't I acting square?" Peneluna softened. "Yes, you are!" she admitted. "But I declare, after finding nothing agin him, one gets to wondering if there _is_ anything agin him. I don't like suspecting my feller creatures." "Suspectin' ain't like murdering!" Jan-an blurted out. "If you don't stop talking like that, Jan-an----" But Peneluna paused, for she saw the frightened look creeping into Jan-an's dull eyes. It was while the Point was agitated about Larry that Twombley brought forth his gun and took to cleaning it and fondling it by his doorway. This action of Twombley's fascinated Jan-an. "What yer going to shoot?" she asked.