But even as she bent to regain the letter, she began trembling and crying again so pitifully that Lord Chesterfield's face colored darkly and for all he bit his lips like the brave little fighter he was at all times, still a great sob welled up in his own throat and his eyes grew gentle. And presently in the quiet, Aunt Cheerful felt the diffident touch of a boyish hand upon her shoulder and looking up met the eyes of the little hermit, oddly resolute for all their sympathy. "Aunt Cheerful," said he firmly, "I--I'm 'fraid I'd better stay here all night. Fact is," with a squaring of chin and shoulders, "I feel that you'd better have a man in the house." But Aunt Cheerful's wan smile bore in it something resolute of her old cheeriness. "Oh, my dear boy," she exclaimed gratefully, "it is more than good of you to offer, but you must remember poor Carlo's rheumatism and the new liniment and all the responsibilities of your bachelor life. And anyway I'm quite alright now. Silly old women have such spells." So presently, after a deal of urging, Lord Chesterfield departed and Aunt Cheerful went tap! tap! tapping softly out into the kitchen to mix her bread. And even as she worked, a perturbed little sentinel with a round boyish face peered furtively in at the kitchen window, loath to leave the cottage among the pines when sorrow lay upon it. Now as Aunt Cheerful worked she began to sing, and the song was one that had often bolstered her waning courage before. And surely in the very words of it lay the fragrance of her own resourceful cheeriness. "There is ever a song somewhere, my dear; In the midnight black or the midday blue; The robin pipes when the sun is here, And the cricket chirrups the whole night through. The buds may blow and the fruit may grow, And the Autumn leaves drop crisp and sere; But whether the sun or the rain or the snow, There is ever a song somewhere, my dear." Whereat, hearing the cheerful song of his honored lady, a great relief shone suddenly in Lord Chesterfield's anxious eyes, and whistling softly to himself he disappeared among the pines. V The Little Hermit [Illustration] V BUT to-night as Lord Chesterfield hurried down through the quiet of the village to his weather-beaten shack along the river, his whistle grew slightly erratic and presently ceased altogether, and when at last he removed the rusty key from the nail by the door, his shining eyes and grim little chin betokened an unusual excitement and determination.