But the Peon doesn’t feel at all upset about Caro and David; the only thing that troubles him is that I should be left alone again during the day. So far as David is concerned, the Peon thinks Caro would never have gone if she hadn’t cared for him, to some extent, at least, in the way Cousin Jane accused her of doing—which is certainly reasonable enough. And as to her loving David and yet treating him as I’m sure she did, the Peon begs me to remember some rather cold-blooded performances of my own in our courting days. “Do you remember the night after Jessie Martin’s wedding?” he demanded. “After that night, and your marrying me six months later, I lost my faith in a girl’s ‘no.’ If I had it to go over again, I’d not lose a night’s sleep on account of it, my lady: and so I told David as he drove me home from the station.” “Oh, you told him, then?” “I did. And I told him to give Caro plenty of rope, and your Cousin Jane would soon hang herself with it.” “What did he say?” “Not much of anything. He seems to think Mrs. Grackle only furnished the occasion for Caro’s real feeling toward him to come to the front. He’s pretty sore, I imagine. But don’t you worry your dear head. Lovers would miss half the fun of the game if they couldn’t be drowned in misery now and then. Just let them alone and let them get all that’s coming to them. They’ll work through it somehow, and straighten it out to their perfect satisfaction when they get ready—and not before.” “You didn’t let it alone,” I said reproachfully. “No,” he said; “that’s why I’m so well posted about the course to pursue. I’ve done all that’s necessary myself.” His eyes laughed a little, and I laughed back. Maybe I was a true prophet after all. Anyway, I musn’t look like a graveyard just because we’re all lonesome, and David is so quiet as he comes and goes. And if I’m not to look like a graveyard, the best way is not to feel like one. * * * * * _May 17th._ Things are happening so fast they make my head swim. David is gone, too; and I feel like an old hen who has raised a pair of wild geese and seen them go flying out of sight in opposite directions. He fixed it all with the Peon before he said a word to me. Then he sat by my cot, with those coaxing ways of his—I knew some kind of a wrench was coming. He wanted to go out to Washington and take charge of the Peon’s apple orchard there and finish planting the land. He’d been thinking of it for some time. The only reason he hesitated about going was the leaving me alone: but I needed Caro more than I needed him; and if he went—. “But oh, my dear, I don’t!” I cried. “You are my first, my best of children! And as for having Caro—I’ll have her when the time comes of which I told you the other night. I don’t want her before.”