He opened and read it as he walked, stopped short and read it again with knitted brows. Then he walked on and on, as one deep in thought, until he came to the other side of the village. He did not go near the stores, but strolled instead towards a large, unoccupied house that stood surrounded by lawns and trees, well apart from its neighbours. There was a clear view of the hills from the porch. Mr. Harlow walked round the house and through the garden, and sat on the porch steps, still deep in thought. “I did not know what had become of you,” said his wife, running down the walk to meet him as he once more came in through the gate. “Why, it’s after twelve o’clock! I was afraid something had happened to you! I suppose you’ve been talking all this time to somebody.” She did not give him an opportunity to answer, but drew him up beside her to one of the piazza chairs. “I know you won’t have time to mend all those things I asked you to, without taking up all your afternoon, and I don’t want you to do that. But I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to fix the leg of the refrigerator.” “It would be better to buy a new one, wouldn’t it?” asked Mr. Harlow, impartially. “‘Better to buy a new one!’ I only wish I could. How queer you act, David! Aren’t you going to put the netting on the screens now? I think you’ll have time before dinner; it’s to be at one o’clock to-day.” “I can’t do the screens now, Min. The store was shut when I went to buy the nails. Who’s that talking to Betty?” “It’s Sylvia; she has come out for a couple of days. And, O David, a telegram came for Betty while you were gone, from Harry Leroy. He’ll be on to-night, and he’s not going back to Indiana any more. He has a position here with his cousin.” “Hum!” Mr. Harlow looked doubtfully considerate. “How old is Betty? Fifteen?” “She will be nineteen in September.” “Oh, well, she’s nothing but a child yet,” said Mr. Harlow, in a tone that defied denial. “Nothing but a child,” assented his wife, cheerfully. There was a pause. “How old were you when we were married, Min?” “Twenty. It was entirely too young.” “I remember,” Mr. Harlow’s voice was reflective, “my mother told me she was married at seventeen and my grandmother was married at fifteen; and I had an aunt who——” “If you remember any more I’ll go in the house!” said his wife, indignantly. “What is the matter with you, David? Where have you been this morning?” “Well, Min, I’ve something to tell you. I——” he stopped, his voice altered and his eyes became suddenly alert. “Hello! What’s that over there?” “Smoke, isn’t it?” she answered, her gaze following his towards the horizon. “It seems to me I can smell it.” “Looks like a fire, doesn’t it?” “Yes, but I don’t hear any fire-bells.” Mr. Harlow rose. “Two-thirds of our beloved volunteer fire department are off on a picnic or a procession or something to-day. I’m going over to that smoke on the old bicycle, and find out what’s the matter.”