“From the time I was fifteen years old, Phineas,” she said wistfully, “I was mother to my mother!” A picture of the frail paralytic in her wheel chair rose before him. “I took her place in our home when she died--yes, before she died. It is a sacred promise that a girl makes to a mother, Phineas, when that mother, helpless as an infant, trusts her, believes her and goes smiling down into the grave, securely depending on that promise.” The Judge was close upon them. “I didn’t hardly expect you to marry me, Sylvena,” said the Squire, gazing gloomily at the old man. “I’ve never dared to think much about marrying any one,” she said, her eyes straying to the caravan in its halo of dust. “Somehow, it hasn’t seemed to come right.” “Some day there’ll be a man come along and you’ll know what it means to be willing to give up every other thing in this world and not be able to think about letting any one else step between you, and as it will have to be a mighty good man to make you feel that way, I’ll step up then and give you the best word I have, Sylvena, and perhaps I can begin to feel like a brother toward you. I’m generous enough to pray God that you may feel that way sometime.” “No wonder you’re trying to beg off your brother, Phineas Look,” shrilled the Judge, interposing himself between them. He had caught a word of the Squire’s speech as he came up. “But you can’t do it! The law is going to take him. I’ll see that it does.” He whirled on his daughter. “Why do you stand here talking with this man when you know what he and his tribe are and how they have always treated us?” She had taken his arm and was trying to lead him away, aware of the futility of argument or even reply. “You can’t come around this family, Phin Look,” stormed the Judge, “by wheedling a girl who hasn’t had self-respect enough to spit on----” “Judge Willard!” The voice of the Squire was so tense, so pregnant, that the old man stopped and looked at him. The lawyer was clutching a paling in each hand. He had projected his face over the fence. He was grayish white, and his eyes glowed under their knotted brows. “Don’t you discuss the honest and faithful friendship there is between your daughter and myself. Do you understand me?” The old man looked at him, “plipping” his lips as though searching for a reply. “You have hogged the best out of her life. You have stood between her and some man’s honest affection. I want you to know that I hate every ounce of your stingy old skin and bones. I----” but he checked himself and turned to the daughter with an appealing smile breaking through the white rigidity of his countenance. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” he murmured, with a wag of his head for each exclamation. “What a savage old whelp it is that’s barking over your fence, Sylvena. Forgive me again.” He turned hastily and went up the street, following the caravan. Old Eli, who had been patiently waiting on the sidewalk’s edge, fell in at his master’s heels.