“Of course, I’ll admit he’s got a temper,” said the latter, as he arose to go in search of his son. “I don’t know where he gets it from. Mary usually had her own way, but it wasn’t because she insisted on having it. And she never got mad if I opposed her. She just laughed and went ahead and did things her way. In that way we always got along without a sign of a quarrel. As for me, I haven’t got any more of a temper than a sheep has. He don’t get it from either of us. My grandfather had an uncle that he used to talk a good deal about—a feller that would fight at the drop of the hat—but he always claimed he did it for fun and because he enjoyed lickin’ somebody every once in awhile. Oliver seems to take after me in a good many ways, and he’s like his Ma in others. He’s got my freckles and nose and when he grows up I guess maybe he’ll have my hair, but he’s got Mary’s eyes and ears and mouth and his legs are more like hers—ha! ha!—I mean they ain’t skinny and crooked like mine—er—Well, I guess I’ll go out and see if I can find him.” With that, he dashed hurriedly from the room. Presently they heard him out in the yard calling Oliver’s name. That Oliver did not respond at once was obvious. The shout was repeated several times, growing fainter as the search took Mr. Baxter around to the back of the house and into the region of the barn and outbuildings. “Everything that gypsy woman said has come true up to date,” announced Mr. Sikes, after silence had reigned for many minutes in the sitting-room. “In the first place, she said he was going to look like his pa—and he does. He’s an improvement on big Ollie, I’ll admit—a big improvement—but just the same he’s a lot like him. Then she said he’d always be at the head of his class and as bright as a dollar, didn’t she? Well, _that’s_ come true, ain’t it?” Here he paused, reluctant to go on with his justification of the gypsy’s prophecy. He looked at Mr. Link, who at once accepted the unspoken challenge by assuming the funereal air that always marked his translation from livery-man to undertaker. “Yes,” said Silas, his gaze lifted toward the ceiling, “and we must not forget that his beloved mother died before he was ten years old.” “True,” mused the minister, nodding his head slowly. “Doubly unfortunate was that dear woman’s death. If God in his wisdom had seen fit to spare her for a few days longer all this nonsense about the gypsy woman’s prophecy would be—” “Sh! Here they come,” cautioned Silas, as steps were heard on the front porch. “I hope Serepty Grimes don’t happen to drop in,” said Mr. Sikes uneasily. “She won’t,” vouchsafed Mr. Link. “I happen to know that Ed Tucker’s wife ain’t expected to live till morning.” “You don’t say so! I heard she was better to-day.” “False alarm,” said the undertaker, thoughtlessly.