Mr. Link took time to search several tree tops before answering. Then he solemnly said: “I’m not sure it was the one I see perched over yonder at the top of that second tree, but if it wasn’t that one it was one just like it. A little bird told me.” “Talk sense! Who told you Oliver was in love with Jane?” “Doc Lansing. Not more than a week ago he told me Oliver was head over heels in love with her. I guess he ought to know. He sees a good deal of both of ’em.” “Well, I’ll be—Why, dod-gast it, he’s the one that told me Jane was in love with Oliver.” “Well,” began Mr. Link after they had proceeded up Maple Street some fifteen or twenty paces, “if he’s telling the truth, I guess you don’t need to worry about this yaller-haired one any longer, Joe.” Mr. Sikes shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. He’s partial to blondes, seems to me. I’ll have to talk to that boy, Silas. I’ve told him a hundred times to beware of light women, and here he goes—” “Come on! Oliver got out of the car up in front of the Reverend Sage’s and it’s going on without him. That proves we’re right, Joe. That telegram to Reverend Sage was—” “It wasn’t a telegram. It was a cable. Marmaduke Smith told me; not five minutes after he delivered it.” “No matter. It’s from Ollie. He’s telegraphing Sage to break some kind of news to Oliver. Dying somewheres maybe. That’s why they sent Doc Lansing for Oliver October. Come on—step along a little, Joe. I think I’ve sized the thing up. The minute I heard Sage had got a telegram I says to myself, it’s from Ollie. I—” “If you save your breath you can walk faster,” interrupted Mr. Sikes, stepping forth with renewed vigor. Mr. Link was half a block in the rear when his companion turned in at the parsonage. It was true that Josephine Sage was coming home. The beatific minister thrust the cablegram into Oliver’s hand as that young man came bounding up the veranda steps. “She’s coming on the _Baltic_. I have decided to go to New York to meet her. Jane will accompany me. I wish you would find out for me, Oliver, when the _Baltic_ is due to arrive at New York. I am so upset, so distracted I do not seem to know just which way to turn. Please help me out, lad. Perhaps I should have telegraphed myself—or had Jane do it—but we—I mean _I_—er—” “Don’t you give it another thought, Uncle Herbert,” cried Oliver, returning the bit of paper which Mr. Sage carefully folded and placed in his notebook. “I will arrange everything for you. You must be beside yourself with joy, sir. It’s great, isn’t it? Where is Jane?” Mr. Sage looked a trifle dazed. “Why—er—oh, yes, she is upstairs putting a few of my things into a suitcase. I—” Oliver laughed. “For the love of—Why, Uncle Herbert, you’ve got five or six days to spare. The _Baltic_ won’t reach New York for a week anyhow.”