"Another year," sighed Amos Adams, and the wind blew through the gaunt branches of the cottonwood trees in the yard, and far down in the valley came the moaning as of many waters, and the wind played its harmonies in the woodlot. The old man repeated the words: "Another year," and asked himself how many more years he would have to wait and listen to the sighing of the moaning waters that washed around the world. And Kenyon Adams, lying flushed and tousled and tired upon a couch near by, heard the waters in his dreams and they made such music that his thin, little face moved in an eyrie smile. "Mag," said a pale, nervous girl with dead, sad eyes as she looked around at the new furniture in the new house, and avoided the rim of soft light that came from the electric under the red shade, "did you think I was cheeky to ask you all those questions over the 'phone--about where Henry was to-night, and what you'd be doing?" The hostess said: "Why, no, Violet, no--I'm always glad to see you." There was a pause, and the girl exclaimed: "That's what I come out for. I couldn't stand it any longer. Mag, what in God's name have I done? Didn't you see me the other day on Market Street? You were looking right at me. It's been nearly a year since we've talked. You used to couldn't get along a week without a good talk; but now--say, Mag, what's the matter? what have I done to make you treat me like this?" There was a tremor in the girl's voice. She looked piteously at the wife, radiant in her red house gown. The hostess spoke. "Look here, Violet Mauling, I did see you on Market Street, and I did cut you dead. I knew it would bring you up standing and we'd have this thing out." The girl looked her question, but flushed. Then she said, "You mean the old man?" "I mean the old man. It's perfectly scandalous, Violet; didn't you get your lesson with Van Dorn?" returned the hostess. "The old man won't marry you--you don't expect that, do you?" The girl shook her head. The woman continued, "Well, then drop it. You can't afford to be seen with him." "Mag," returned the visitor, "I tell you before God I can't afford not to. It's my job. It's all I've got. Mamma hasn't another soul except me to depend on. And he's harmless--the old coot's as harmless as a child. Honest and true, Mag, if I ever told the truth that's it. He just stands around and is silly--just makes foolish breaks to hear himself talk--that's all. But what can I do? He keeps me in the company store, and Heaven knows he doesn't kill himself paying me--only $8 a week, as far as that goes, and then he talks and talks and talks about Judge Van Dorn, and snickers and drops his front false teeth--ugh!--and drivels. But, Mag, he's harmless as a baby." "Well," returned the hostess, "Henry says every one is talking about it, and you're a common scandal, Violet Mauling, and you ought to know it. I can't hold you up, as you well know--no one can."