Uncle Ran closed the door softly behind him and Winthrop was left alone. He pulled the spread over himself, gave a sigh of content, and lighted a cigarette with fingers that still trembled. Then, placing his hands beneath his head, he watched the smoke curl away toward the cracked and flaking ceiling and gave himself up to his thoughts. What an ass he had made of himself! And what a trump the little lady had been! He smiled as he recalled the manner in which she had bossed him around. But who the deuce was she? And who was the young girl with the big brown eyes? What were they doing here at Waynewood, in his house? He wished he had not taken things for granted as he had, wished he had made inquiries before launching himself southward. He must get hold of that Major Cass and learn his bearings. Perhaps, after all, there was some mistake and the place didn’t belong to him at all! If that was the case he had made a pretty fool of himself by walking in and fainting on the front porch in that casual manner! But he hoped mightily that there was no mistake, for he had fallen in love at first sight with the place. If it was his he would fix it up. Then he sighed as he recollected that until he got firmly on his feet again such a thing was quite out of the question. The cigarette had burned itself down and he tossed it onto the hearth. The light was fading in the room. Through the open windows, borne on the soft evening air, came the faint tinkling of distant cow-bells. For the rest the silence held profoundly save for the gentle singing of the fire. Winthrop turned on to his side, pillowed his head in his hand and dropped to sleep. So soundly he slept that when Uncle Ran tiptoed in with his trunk and bag he never stirred. The old negro nodded approvingly from the foot of the bed, unstrapped the trunk, laid a fresh log on the fire, and tiptoed out again. When Winthrop finally awoke he found a neat colored girl lighting the lamp, while beside it on the table a well-filled tray was laid. “I fetched your supper, Mr. Winthrop,” said Phœbe. [Illustration] “Thank you, but I really meant to go down. I――I think I fell asleep.” “Yes, sir. Miss Indy say good-night, and she hopes you’ll sleep comfable, sir.” “Much obliged,” muttered Winthrop. “I’ll be back after awhile to fetch away the tray, sir.” “All right.” When he was once more alone he arose and laughed softly. “Confound the woman! She’s a regular tyrant. I wonder if she’ll let me get up to-morrow. Oh, well, maybe she’s right. I don’t feel much like making conversation. Hello! there’s my trunk; I must have slept soundly, and that’s a fact!” Unlocking the trunk, he rummaged through it until he found his dressing-gown and slippers. With those on he drew a chair to the table and began his supper. “Nice diet for an invalid,” he thought, amusedly, as he uncovered the hot biscuits.