The gate was swung wide open, the path leading to the closed front door was weed-grown, the flower beds on each side of the path were a mass of wild, bright bloom. “How pretty! How like a picture!” exclaimed Judith, in admiration; “there’s a grape-vine running up an apple tree, and there’s the old oaken bucket. What a pity for no one to live here.” “Somebody stays here,” said Roger. “Is it the parsonage? How can they neglect it so?” “Whoa, Daisy. The farmers are all busy. King should learn to use a scythe, and a lawn-mower; he’s a born hermit. If he wanted to he could find a housekeeper; he forgets he hasn’t any.” “But there’s no one at home.” “Oh, yes, he’s at home. He’s expecting me. The study is in the rear; he lives in that.” “But where is his sunshine?” “He finds that. He’s the best man to find sunshine I know. He is the sunshine himself.” The “sunshine” came around the corner of the house, a long linen duster crowned with a soft gray felt hat; beneath the hat a tawny beard, and the bluest eyes shining through a tangle of eyebrows. “I had given you up.” “Never give me up,” said Roger in a sunshiny voice. “I’m always on hand, when I am not on foot. Miss Mackenzie, Mr. King. But, excuse me, you have seen each other in Bensalem.” “I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Mackenzie; I hope she has not forgotten me.” “Judith never forgets. Will you let her go around and browse while we have our drive? Judith, you don’t mind staying alone?” “It is not a very nice place for a lady to stay in,” the bachelor housekeeper hastened to say; “I fear I forget when sweeping-day comes, and I always forget to wash the dishes.” “Judith will do that for you. Don’t forget, Judith,” he warned. “The woman who comes once a week is ill, and has not been here for two weeks; I am really ashamed to have Miss Judith come into the house.” “She isn’t ashamed, she likes it. Give her your hand, Dick, and help her out; I must hold Daisy.” Judith stepped down and stood beside the linen duster and gray hat, fervently wishing she had stayed at home. “Roger, how long will you be gone?” she inquired, faint-heartedly. “Till supper-time—we have business on hand—if you don’t have supper ready for us I’ll lose you on the way home.” “There’s bread in the house, and butter and milk and eggs—but the dishes—,” excused the embarrassed housekeeper. “Trust a girl to wash dishes. Will you wear that duster?” “I have a coat under it. Wait until I show Miss Judith in; my study is the only fit place.” “Show her the kitchen, there’s where you need a visitor.” “The front door is locked,” apologized Mr. King. “I am sorry to take you to the back hall door.” Judith’s courtesy and kindliness failed her; Roger deserved a scolding for bringing her to such a forlorn place; what could she do with herself two or three hours?