“The old hag!” Floyd said, darkly. “I wish the same gang would take her out some night and tie her tongue at least.” “Mrs. Baker came back to me then,” Cynthia went on. “She put her head in my lap and sobbed as if her heart would break. Nothing I could possibly say would comfort her. She worships the ground Pole walks on. And she _ought_ to love him. He's good and noble and full of tenderness. She saw him coming while we were talking, and quickly dried her eyes. “'He mustn't see me crying,' she said. 'If he thought I knew this he would never get over it.' “He came in then and noticed her red eyes, and I saw him turn pale as he sat studying her face. Then to throw him off she told him a fib. She told him I'd been taking her into my confidence about something which she was not at liberty to reveal.” “Ah, I see,” exclaimed Floyd, admiringly. “She's a shrewd little woman--nearly as shrewd as he is.” “But he acted queerly after that, I must say,” Cynthia went on. “He at once quit looking at her, and sat staring at me in the oddest way. I spoke to him, but he wouldn't answer. When I was going home, he followed me as far as the bam. 'You couldn't tell me that secret, could you, little sister?' he said, with a strange, excited look on his face. Of course, I saw that he thought it was some trouble of mine, but I couldn't set him right and be true to his wife, and so I said nothing. He walked on with me to the branch, still looking worried; then, when we were about to part, he held out his hand. 'I want to say right here, little sister,' he said, 'that I love you like a brother, and if any harm comes to you, _in any way_, I'll be with you.'” “He's very queer,” said Floyd, thoughtfully. They were now near the house and he paused. “I'll not go any farther,” he said. “It will do no good to disturb your mother. She hates the ground I walk on. She will only make it unpleasant for you if she sees us together. Good-bye, I'll see you when I get back from Atlanta.” XXV