"I will imitate you," heartily responded Duff Salter; "for it occurred to me in Arkansas that people shot and butchered each other so often because they threw into empty stomachs a long tumbler of liquor and leaves. You are well started, Andrew. Your father's and his partner's estate will give you an income of $10,000. What will you do?" "I have no idea whatever. My mind is not ready for business. My serious experience has been followed by a sort of stupor--an inquiry, a detached relation to everything." "Let it be so awhile," answered the strong, gray-eyed man. "Such rests are often medicine, as sleep is. The mind will find its true channel some day." "Can I be of service to you, Mr. Salter? Money would be a small return of our obligations to you." "No, I am independent. Too independent! I wish I had a wife." "Ah! Agnes told me that besides seeing the baby when you came to the house, little Mary Byerly would be there. She is well enough to be out, and has lost her invalid brother." "If you see me blush, Andrew," said Duff Salter, "you needn't tell of it. I am in love with little Podge, but it's all over. With no understanding of woman's sensibilities, I shook that fragile child in my rude grasp, and frightened her forever. What will you call your baby?" "Agnes says it shall be _Euphemia_, meaning 'of good report.' You know it came near being a young lady of bad report." "As for me, Andrew, I shall make the contract for the steeple and completion of the new church, and then take a foreign journey. Since I stopped sneezing I have no way to disguise my sensibilities, and am more an object of suspicion than ever." Duff Salter peeped at the beautiful mother and hung a chain of gold around the baby's neck, and was about slipping out when Podge Byerly appeared. She made a low bow and shrank away. "Follow her," whispered Andrew Zane. "If she is cool now she will be cold hereafter, unless you nurse her confidence." With a sense of great youthfulness and demerit, Duff Salter entered the parlors and found Podge sitting in the shadows of that thrice notable room where death and grief had been so often carried and laid down. The little teacher was pale and thin, and her eyes wore a saddened light. "I am very glad to see you again," said Duff Salter. "I wanted your forgiveness." Striking the centre of sympathy by these few words, the late deaf man saw Podge's throat agitated. "If you knew," he continued, "how often I accused myself since your illness, you would try to excuse me." After a little silence Podge said, "I don't remember just what happened, Mr. Salter. Was it you who sent me many beautiful and dainty things while I was sick? I thought it might be." "You guessed me, then? At least I was not forgotten."