It was while sitting there one day, watching the angular Higgins engaged in making the bed, that it occurred to him that in all his two weeks’ stay he had never seen the master of Bright Farm--not that he had cared particularly, so long as he saw the mistress often enough--but it gave him something to think about and speculate upon. “Mrs. Higgins,” he said, as pleasantly as possible, “is Mr. Bright at home now, do you think?” “No, he hain’t,” returned that uncompromising female. “Ah! gone to town, I suppose?” returned Clinton. But Mrs. Higgins, probably taking no interest in his suppositions, made no response, but continued her struggles with the pillow she was endeavoring to entrap into a case at least two sizes too small for it. “How soon do you expect him back?” persisted Clinton. “Back from whar?” inquired the Higgins. “Why, from--from town, I suppose,” returned Clinton meekly. “Who said he was in town?” demanded Higgins, with altogether unnecessary acerbity. “You said he was not at home,” suggested Clinton mildly. “Well, he ain’t to home, nuther,” returned Higgins. “He’s over ’n the medder a-plowin’. Then what?” And she shot this question at him with a suddenness that was startling. “Why, I should be very glad to see him,” said Clinton calmly. “Will you say so to him when he comes in to dinner?” But Higgins only replied, “that she thought it was about time he wanted to see Jim Bright.” And so, having completed her work, she left her charge to his own reflections. Clinton was not wrong in expecting a visit from his host, and consequently was not surprised when, at about noon, the door of his room opened and admitted a tall, sunburned man of about his own age, who, judging from the flushed face and damp, brown hair, had only stopped work long enough to have performed his ablutions. He advanced to the chair. “I hope you are getting better,” he said. “Mrs. Higgins tells me that you wished to see me.” “You are Mr. Bright?” Clinton said, with a pleasing smile, and stretching out his hand in greeting. “Yes, I have wanted to see you badly. I have so much to thank you for, and I wanted to give you such return as I may for the kind treatment that I have received.” He said all this in such a sincere, hearty fashion that he quite touched honest Jim, who, to tell the truth, had been more than half disposed to dislike his guest. “You owe me no thanks,” he said quietly. “You are welcome to everything we can do for you until you recover.” Perhaps Jim unconsciously emphasized his last few words; the emphasis was plainly discernible, and Clinton flushed a little as he repeated his thanks and hoped--with some dignity--that he would not trouble them much longer. “I believe,” he said, in conclusion, “that I owe you for more than your hospitality, great as that debt is. I am afraid if you had not found me when you did, there would have been very little need of carrying me anywhere.”