Who could be more interested in the happiness of Miss Amanda than Mr. Parlow himself? If his daughter had loved Uncle Joe and still loved him, it seemed to Carolyn May as though the carpenter should be very eager, indeed, to help overcome the difficulty that lay between the two parted lovers. The little girl had been going to call on Miss Amanda. Aunty Rose had said she might, and Miss Amanda had invited her “specially.” But the thought of taking the old carpenter into her confidence and advising with him delayed that visit. Mr. Parlow was busy on some piece of cabinet work, but he nodded briskly to the little girl when she came to the door of the shop and looked in. “Are you very busy, Mr. Parlow?” she asked him after a watchful minute or two. “My hands be, Car’lyn May,” said the carpenter in his dry voice. “Oh!” “But I kin listen to ye—and I kin talk.” “Oh, that’s nice! You can talk when you are sawing and fitting things, can’t you? Not like when you are nailing. Then your mouth’s full of nails—like Mrs. Gormley’s is full of pins when she’s fitting you.” “Miz Gormley never fitted me to nothin’ yet,” returned Mr. Parlow grimly, “less ’twas a suit of gossip.” Carolyn May did not notice this remark, nor would she have understood it. She thought Chet Gormley’s mother a very interesting woman, indeed. She always knew so much about everybody. Just now, moreover, Carolyn May had something else in her mind; so she ignored Mr. Parlow’s remark about the seamstress. She asked in a half-whisper: “Mr. Parlow, did you hear about what happened yesterday?” “Eh?” he queried, eyeing her quizzically. “Does anything ever happen on Sunday?” “Something did on this Sunday,” cried the little girl. “Didn’t you hear about the snake?” “What d’ye mean—snake? The old original snake—that sarpint ye read about in the Scriptures?” demanded the carpenter, ruffling up his grey hair till it looked like the topknot of a very cross cockatoo. “Oh, no, Mr. Parlow!” and then little Carolyn May explained. She told the story with such earnestness that he stopped working to listen, watching her with as shrewd, sharp eyes as ever a real cockatoo possessed. “Humph!” was his grunted comment at the end. “Well!” “Don’t you think that was real exciting?” asked Carolyn May. “And just see how it _almost_ brought my Uncle Joe and your Miss Amanda together. Don’t you see?” Mr. Parlow actually jumped. “What’s that you say, child?” he rasped out grimly. “Bring Mandy and Joe Stagg together? Well, I guess not!” “Oh, Mr. Parlow, don’t you think that would be just be-a-_you_-ti-ful?” cried the little girl with a lingering emphasis upon the most important word. “Don’t you see how happy they would be?” “I’d like to know who told you they’d be happy?” he demanded crossly. “Why! wouldn’t they be? If they truly love each other and could get over being mad?”