The answer produced much scurrying of the girl's quick feet, and in less than half an hour, the table was set in the clean front sitting room, shining with the few cherished china pieces brought from the early colonial days into these bleak mountain valleys by this Puritan daughter from New England's wave-washed shores. Ellen set some eggs to wait their turn at the great open fire-place, and in the covered bake skillet were browning the cream biscuits which only Aunt Clara could compound from the various chemical resultants of lye made from wood-ashes and the pleasant acid of soured cream. Serviceberry preserves glowed darkly through the one precious glass dish, and soft Dutch cheese was molded into oval richness on a china saucer. A pitcher of foaming milk testified to its recent cold storage; and a plate of doughnuts flanked the cheese. It was a hasty meal, but none the less appetizing; and was ready none too soon. A strong yet quick rap at the front door introduced John Stevens, to be followed by a dusty, travel-stained man, of small stature, and of an exceedingly dignified mien, yet looking very feeble and ill. "Mrs. Tyler, let me introduce Dr. Osborne," said John gravely, and the gentleman bowed courteously over the extended hand of his hostess. The lady looked at the traveler with a curious half remembrance in her black eyes, but the "doctor" responded with only a grave salute, as he followed his hostess into the low-ceiled bedchamber, just off the sitting-room. "John," said Aunt Clara, when she returned, "I have surely seen that gentleman somewhere, but I can't tell where for the life of me. He is very tired and looks sick;" and she gazed thoughtfully and inquiringly at dusty John Stevens, who only stroked his long beard and gazed kindly at her without reply. "Hurry, John," called Ellen from the inner kitchen door; "supper is all ready, and if you are going to eat with this gentleman, you will need to hurry and wash. Come out here to the porch; I have water and a clean towel for you." Dian was still knitting away for dear life, near the small-framed west window; John halted a moment at her side. "What's the hurry?" he asked, laconically, as he touched the dark grey ribbed stocking swinging from the shining needles in her deft fingers. "Oh, it's for the Utah militia boys. Aunt Clara has kept us girls knitting and spinning, sewing and weaving, night and day, for the soldiers. We don't mind, for it's all we can do to help along." "Any particular soldier?" he queried, indifferently. Dian glanced up to discover a latent meaning, but John's cool gaze gave her no clue. However, a girl flings many chance shots, and some are sure to hit. So she replied with a supercilious accent: "Oh, I promised Charlie Rose to knit all the socks he needed for the expedition. Will you take these to him?" "Certainly," answered John, gravely. He turned and left her, saying: "Charlie will be real grateful for your kindness."