That night Sidney dreamt of Tom,--as a good many people did after seeing him,--and the thought of him so weighed upon her on awakening at dawn, that she hurried through with her housework in order that she might go to Anne. But she had only the earliest morning hours for domestic duties, the rest of her time being always fully occupied with her professional rounds; and she found much to do every morning before starting out. On this particular morning there were unusual affairs of rather a pressing nature. Uncle Watty had discovered a bumblebee's nest under the mossy roof close to his bed. It was never the way of Uncle Watty to submit to any discomfort which he could avoid by complaining, and he was not unnaturally anxious to have this removed without unnecessary delay. Sidney, ready and resourceful, quieted his fears. She knew--so she declared--just how to get the bumblebee's nest down without the least trouble or hurting any one. As soon, therefore, as the kitchen was in order, she bustled into the room where Doris sat sewing behind the white curtain. Sidney put the broom on end in its accustomed place, and began rolling down her sleeves, getting ready to move upon the citadel of the bumblebees. When a thing--large or small--must be done, Sidney was not one to let the grass grow under her feet. She had reached the door of the passage, meaning to climb to the loft and to awaken Uncle Watty as a mere matter of precaution before beginning operations, when Doris's voice caused her to pause. "I haven't had a chance, mother, to tell you that Mr. Gordon was here yesterday in the cool of the evening, before you came home. He didn't come in. He only went into the garden," Doris said, simply. Sidney stopped and stood still, silently gazing at her daughter. "He came to see the pretty-by-nights. He said he had never seen them open with the falling of the dew," the girl went on, like a child. "Anybody's welcome to look at the pretty-by-nights," responded Sidney, with cautious non-committal indifference. "I told him I knew you wouldn't care," said Doris, more confidently. "And then he asked if he might come early this morning to look at the morning-glories. He thought they must be lovely--such big ones, red, white, and blue--all over that side of the house." "They're well enough in their place," said Sidney, off-hand. And then, carelessly, after an instant's pause, "What did you say?" "He said he was coming--before I could say anything." Doris thus placed the responsibility where it belonged, made timid again by her mother's manner, which she did not understand. "He may be here now, at any moment." "Well, it won't hurt the morning-glories a mite to be looked at," said Sidney.