"Stop cryin'," she said with authority. "Ben Barry's just as smart as he is brave. He ain't goin' to take any foolish risk now that you're safe. I don't know what he wants the boy for, but probably it's some good reason; and if you don't stop workin' yourself up, you won't be fit to go to town to-morrow. I want you should stay in bed all day. Now, you behave yourself, my lamb. Ben'll come back all right." Geraldine flushed through her tears. It was heavenly to be scolded by someone who loved her. She looked at the pitcher exiled to the bureau. "I--I think you might as well move the apple blossoms here," she said, wiping her eyes and speaking meekly. "All right," said Miss Mehitable, beaming, and she proceeded to set a light stand beside the bed and placed the rosy mass upon it. Toward night came a parcel-post package for Miss Geraldine Melody. Miss Upton and Charlotte both stood by with eager interest while the girl sat up in bed and opened it. None of the three had ever seen such a box of bon-bons as was disclosed. It was a revelation of dainty richness, and the older women exclaimed while Geraldine bowed her fair head over this new evidence of thoughtfulness. The long sleeves of Charlotte's nightgown, the patchwork quilt of the bed, the homely surroundings, all made the contrast of the gift more striking. There was a card upon it. Ben Barry's card: Geraldine turned it over and read: "Is the princess happy?" She was back among the clouds, the bright spring air flowing past her, each breath a wonderful memory. The two women looked at one another. They saw her close her hand on the card. She lifted the box to them, and raised her pensive eyes. "It is for us all," she said softly; but her ardent thought was repeating: "He would--he _will_ take care of himself, for me!" CHAPTER XII The Transformation Into the village nearest the Carder farm rolled Ben Barry's roadster. He stopped at the inn which made some pretension to furnishing entertainment to the motorists who found it on their route, and after a luncheon put up his car and walked to the village center to the post-office and grocery store. He had most hope of the latter as a bureau of information. After buying some cigarettes and chocolate, and exchanging comments on the weather with the proprietor, he introduced his subject. "I believe Rufus Carder lives near here," he remarked. "Yus, oh, yus," agreed the man, who was in his shirt-sleeves, and who here patronized the cuspidor. "He's pretty well-to-do, I understand. I should suppose if he is public-spirited his being in the neighborhood would be a great advantage to the village."