“Not a bit of it. He needs you. You have all the qualities, common sense, practicability, everything he hasn't got. It is for his sake I'm asking this, Miss Phipps. I truly believe you have the making or marring of his future in your hands--now. That is why I hope you will--well, change your mind.... There! I have said it. Thank you for listening. Good-day.” He turned to the door. She spoke once more. “Oh, you MUST be jokin'!” she cried. “How CAN you say such things? His people--his family--” “Family? Oh... well, I'll tell you the truth about that. When he was young he had altogether too much family. Now he hasn't any, really--except myself, and I have expressed my opinion. Good-by, Miss Phipps.” He went out. Martha slowly went back to her rocking-chair and sat down. A moment later she heard the roar of the engine as the Cabot car got under way. The sound died away in the distance. Martha rose and went up the stairs to her own room. There she sat down once more and thought--and thought. Some time later she heard her lodger's footstep--how instantly she recognized it--in the hall and then in his bedroom. He was in that room but a short time, then she heard him go down the stairs again. Perhaps ten minutes afterward Primmie knocked. She wished permission to go down to the village. “I just thought maybe I'd go down to the meetin' house,” explained Primmie. “They're goin' to have a Sunday school concert this afternoon at four o'clock. Zach he said he was cal'latin' to go. And besides, Mr. Bangs he give me this letter to leave to the telegraph office, Miss Martha.” “The telegraph office isn't open on Sundays, Primmie.” “No'm, I know 'tain't. But Ras Beebe he takes care of all the telegraphs there is and telephones 'em over to Denboro, where the telegraph place IS open Sundays.” “Oh, all right, Primmie, you may go. Is Mr. Bangs in?” “No'm, he ain't. He's gone out somewheres. To walk, I cal'late. Last I see of him he was moonin' along over towards the lighthouse way.” Primmie departed and Martha, alone in the gathering dimness of the afternoon, resumed her thinking. It was an endless round, that thinking of hers--but, of course, it could end in but one way. Even to wish such things was wicked. For his sake, that was what Mr. Cabot had said. Ah, yes, but it was for his sake that she must remain firm. A big drop of rain splashed, and exploded like a miniature watery bombshell, against the windowpane. Martha looked up. Then she became aware of a faint tinkling in the room below. The telephone bell was ringing. She hurried downstairs and put the receiver to her ear. It was Mr. Beebe speaking and he wished to ask something concerning a message which had been left in his care by Primmie Cash.