"Don't repeat it," I snapped, squirming. "Of course I remember, but I don't see the application." "Well, you shouldn't expect to if there isn't any," she said, with renewed mirth. "It was odd, too, that he warned you he'd pay you back for hoisting him." "Will you be kind enough to explain the connection?" I demanded fiercely. It really is unsafe to use that tone with Marion. There was a little flash in her eyes; my glare faltered, then her brief resentment melted into sympathy. "Connection?" she answered. "Why, what connection _could_ there be?" My hand sought hers, in gratitude. There was a pause, then we both laughed, and somehow the bitterness of knowing I had been gulled passed away; I even felt a sympathetic appreciation of his artistic touch in assuring me that we were both men of honor. Suddenly Marion grasped my arm. "Henry," she exclaimed, "he's the man you want!" "The man I want?" "Why, yes; didn't you say you wanted a central figure for that set of rural sketches you've planned?" "By Jove," I cried, with kindling enthusiasm, "he's a character all ready made! If I do him justice, he'll be a--a regular gold mine." I was rather puzzled by a meaning, but to me, inscrutable smile that lingered on Marion's face after this comment, but she so often sees more in a remark of mine than I do that I prefer not to spoil the effect by asking for an explanation. III AN UPHEAVAL The April day on which we moved to Waydean was an ideal one in regard to weather, and my arrangements came so near to perfection that we began the usually irksome work of moving with joyous zest. I had chalked a number on every piece of furniture and box of sundries, also on the door of each room in the farm-house, so as to avoid having the kitchen stove carried upstairs and the bedroom furniture placed in the parlor, and this plan elicited warm approbation from Marion. To say that her approval gratified me scarcely expresses my elation, for although I was proud of the plan I was quite prepared to have her point out some fatal defect. I can indulge in platitudes and commonplaces with impunity, but a really original, trade-marked idea is usually a gauntlet flung into the arena, the activity of my mind producing a reflex action upon hers. In this case I took extraordinary care to provide against anything happening to mar the successful carrying out of my scheme, not even closing the bargain with the owner of the moving van until he had indorsed it with enthusiasm. This man, Bliggs by name, urged me to patent the idea, waxing as indignant as if I had impugned his moral character when I modestly demurred.