“Well, who else would he come to see? Not you!” said her mother. “She hinted that he might want to--to marry you.” “Well,--upon my word! I knew she was a ridiculous creature, but really--!” Mary's face softened with relief. “Of course she is foolish; but--” “Poor Alfred! What has he ever done to have such a daughter-in-law? Mary, the Lord gives us our children; but _Somebody Else_ gives us our in-laws!” “Mother!” said Mary North, horrified, “you do say such things! But really he oughtn't to come so often. I'll--I'll take you away from Old Chester rather than have him bother you.” “Mary, you are just as foolish as his daughter-in-law,” said Mrs. North, impatiently. And, somehow, poor Mary North's heart sank. Nor was she the only perturbed person in town that night. Mrs. Cyrus had a headache, so it was necessary for Cyrus to hold her hand and assure her that Willy King said a headache did not mean brain fever. “Willy King doesn't know everything. If he had headaches like mine, he wouldn't be so sure. I am always worrying about things, and I believe my brain can't stand it. And now I've got your father to worry about!” “Better try and sleep, Gussie. I'll put some Kaliston on your head.” “Kaliston! Kaliston won't keep me from worrying.--Oh, listen to that harmonicon!” “Gussie, I'm sure he isn't thinking of Mrs. North.” “Mrs. North is thinking of him, which is a great deal more dangerous. Cyrus, you _must_ ask Dr. Lavendar to interfere.” As this was at least the twentieth assault upon poor Cyrus's common sense, the citadel trembled. “Do you wish me to go into brain fever before your eyes, just from worry?” Gussie demanded. “You _must_ go!” “Well, maybe, perhaps, to-morrow--” “To-night--to-night,” said Augusta, faintly. And Cyrus surrendered. “Look under the bed before you go,” Gussie murmured. Cyrus looked. “Nobody there,” he said, reassuringly; and went on tiptoe out of the darkened, cologne-scented room. But as he passed along the hall, and saw his father in his little cabin of a room, smoking placidly, and polishing his sextant with loving hands, Cyrus's heart reproached him. “How's her head, Cy?” the Captain called out. “Oh, better, I guess,” Cyrus said.--(“I'll be hanged if I speak to Dr. Lavendar!”) “That's good,” said the Captain, beginning to hoist himself up out of his chair. “Going out? Hold hard, and I'll go 'long. I want to call on Mrs. North.” Cyrus stiffened. “Cold night, sir,” he remonstrated. “'Your granny was Murray, and wore a black nightcap!'” said the Captain; “you are getting delicate in your old age, Cy.” He got up, and plunged into his coat, and tramped out, slamming the door heartily behind him; for which, later, poor Cyrus got the credit. “Where you bound?” “Oh--down-street,” said Cyrus, vaguely.