“Humph!” growled Mr. Parlow, “you let their ‘mad’ alone. ’Tain’t none of your business.” Mr. Parlow was really all ruffled up, just as though he were angry at Carolyn May’s suggestion. “I don’t know as anybody’s pertic’lar anxious to see that daughter of mine and Joe Stagg friendly again. No good would come of it.” Carolyn May looked at him sorrowfully. Mr. Parlow had quite disappointed her. It was plain to be seen that he was not the right one to advise with about the matter. The little girl sighed. “I really did s’pose you’d want to see Miss Amanda happy, Mr. Parlow,” she whispered. “Happy? Bah!” snarled the old man, setting vigorously to work again. He acted as if he wished to say no more, and let the little girl depart without another word. Carolyn May really could not understand it—at least, she could not immediately. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for Mr. Parlow to wish to see his daughter happy and content. And the little girl knew that Miss Amanda was not happy. As she became better and better acquainted with the woman whom she thought so beautiful she was more and more convinced that the carpenter’s daughter was not of a cheerful spirit. Mr. Jedidiah Parlow did not seem to care in the least. That must be, Carolyn May told herself, because he was under the influence of the Dark Spirit himself. He was always looking down. Like Mr. Stagg, the old carpenter was immersed in his daily tasks and seldom thought of anything else. “Why, he doesn’t even know what it means to be happy!” thought Carolyn May. “He never looks _up_, or _out_, or _away_ from his carpenter’s bench. Dear me! of course he isn’t interested in Uncle Joe and Miss Amanda’s being in love.” That Mr. Parlow might have a selfish reason for desiring to keep his daughter and Joseph Stagg apart did not enter the little girl’s mind. She was too young to appreciate such a situation as that might suggest. After that Sunday walk, however, Carolyn May was never so much afraid of her uncle as before. Why, he had even called Prince “good dog”! Truly, Mr. Joseph Stagg was being transformed—if slowly. He could not deny to himself that, to a certain extent, he was enjoying the presence of his little niece at The Corners. If he only could decide just what to do with the personal property of his sister Hannah and her husband down in the New York apartment. Never in his life had he been so long deciding a question. He could not bring himself to the point of writing the lawyer either to sublet the furnished apartment or to sell the furniture in it. Nor could he decide to go down himself to sort over Hannah’s little treasures, put the remainder in an auction room, and close up the apartment. He had really loved Hannah. He knew it now, did Joseph Stagg, every time he looked at the lovely little child who had come to live with him at The Corners. Why! just so had Hannah looked when she was a little thing. The same deep, violet eyes, and sunny hair, and laughing lips——