“You old rogue!” said the doctor, “he was the first one to tell. Miss Diana has sprained her ankle.” “He was right,” said Diana promptly; “father would have been out in the storm and never found me. Texas, go on up and tell the colonel that I’ve hurt my ankle; I won’t have him worried, and I can’t walk well enough to deceive him.” The doctor looked at her quizzically. “That’s right, Di,” he said, driving on; “you’ve spoilt him, but I reckon he can stand it if I can.” “He began it,” she laughed softly; “he spoilt me first.” Dr. Cheyney laughed too. “Perhaps he did,” he admitted gently,--“perhaps he did, but I’m not sure; you’ve got to have your trial, Diana.” They were at the door now, and she laid her hand suddenly over the old man’s. “Dr. Cheyney,” she said, “won’t you thank Caleb Trench and tell him I’d be glad to have him come up here? I want to thank him again properly.” “No,” said Dr. Cheyney promptly, “I won’t.” Diana’s eyes opened. “Why?” she demanded, flushing hotly, half indignant. The doctor looked over the top of his spectacles. “He wouldn’t come, Diana,” he said; “you wouldn’t either, in his place.” She did not answer, but turned away abruptly and reached out both hands to Texas, who helped her down. “Good-bye, doctor,” she said coolly, standing with one hand on the negro’s shoulder. The doctor climbed out. “Go to!” he said, smiling grimly; “I’m coming in to bandage your ankle. Don’t cry for the pink capsules again, Di.” And Diana turned crimson with anger. VI IN the weeks that followed, while Diana nursed her sprained ankle in enforced retirement, changes were taking place at the Cross-Roads. Caleb Trench did not close his little shop, but he put out the new sign: “Caleb Trench, Attorney-at-law.” The little rear room, into which he had carried Diana, was converted into an office, with a new table and another bookcase. Shot, the yellow mongrel, moved from the rear door to the front, and the great metamorphosis was complete. If we could only change our souls as easily as we do our surroundings, how magnificent would be the opportunities of life! Caleb Trench had opened his law office, but as yet he had no clients, that is, no clients who were likely to pay him fees. The countrymen who traded with him and knew him to be honest came by the score to consult him about their difficulties, but they had no thought of paying for Caleb’s friendship, and Caleb asked them nothing. Yet his influence with them grew by that subtle power that we call personal magnetism, and which is, more truly, the magnetism of vital force and sometimes of a clear unbiased mind.