“Sit down, Esther,” he said quietly, “and we’ll see what we can make out of it.” There were some lines of writing on the paper, and he read them aloud in dry, legal monotone, the woman greeting the sentiments with scornful sniffs: “For those that love the world is bright; And when it’s bright it is a sign That some one’s eyes do shed the light; Oh, darling, be my Valentine!” He paused and cocked his eyebrows at her inquiringly. “I caught Mr. Dunham writin’ that tormented sculch out of a book at the sekert’ry in the best room one day the first of this month,” she said. “And I took it away from him. And I know that he jest went to work and made another, ’cause he said he was goin’ to. He’s been dead set and possessed by the Old Harry for months, Squire, till I’m plumb out with him. I can’t, won’t and shan’t stand it no longer. Here’s items, if you need ’em.” She unfolded a long roll composed of many sheets of notepaper pasted together, and he read in the same calm voice her pencilled entries: “July 15.--He helped her and her scholars to pick white weeds to trim up the schoolhouse. “July 19.--Took our ladder and clime trees for leaves, ditto. “July 22.--Took broken candy to door and give it to her. “August 2.--Hitched and took her to her boarding place when it rained. “August 5.--More broken candy. “August 7.--Hitched before school and went after her. “August 10.--Dressed up and visited school.” The lawyer ran his eye over the other entries, noting a general similarity in all. Then he read aloud: “August 10.--Suspect he is making a valentine. “August 12.--Caught him at it and took the valentine.” “And this is it, eh?” he inquired, tapping the gaudily decorated sheet on the table. “But this is hardly the season for valentines.” “And this ain’t the season for a man that’s goin’ on fifty-two to fall in love with an eighteen-year-old girl, either,” she retorted. “But he’s done it. And ’sides all I’ve put down, it has been a continual peddlin’ out to her of candy and apples and fol-de-rols. You understand that by twistin’ a little I can see that schoolhouse door right from my but’ry winder, and there it is in that paper, chalked up to date.” For the first time since she had entered the room his eyes softened a bit. He shook the paper at her gently. “I understand, do I,” he inquired, his mild tones contrasting soothingly with her high-pitched anger, “that this record of devotion to a certain school-house door means that ’Caje is----” “It means,” she shrilled, “that that miserable, old, soft-headed fool of a husband of mine has gone to work and fell in love with that young teeter-bird of a schoolmarm in our deestrick, and has acted out till I’m distracted. I can’t do nothin’ with him, Squire. He jest grunts and growls and clears out of the house when I go at him. Now it’s come to the end of the jig. Understand? It’s the wind-up.