Without feeling the less regret for the dead, Norine accepted the duty to the living, and found in it, if not freedom, at least relief from her sorrow. She devoted herself to her brother and little Clinton, and as the summer passed away and they recovered their health, the little household at the farm gradually resumed the simple routine that had been their custom before their strange guest had come; and had it not been for the presence of little Clinton, Jim might have thought it all a troubled dream. But little Clinton was there, and insisted on being seen, and heard, too, very often. Of course, he ruled the family as only a child can rule one, and there was not a day passed over his sunny little head that did not develop some new grace of mind or body. After the coming of a new tooth ceased to be a novelty, and he had taken his first toddling steps across the floor, to the great pleasure and amazement of all, he would develop some new and astonishing trait daily. He was a merry little fellow, always tumbling in and out of mischief, and taking his bumps as something that had to be gone through with, and the sooner he got them over with the better. They were all his willing slaves, but he would debase Jim more than all the rest; and Jim would declare proudly that he hardly dared to light his pipe now, for fear the little chap would want something. “Dim do,” or “Dim dive,” were words constantly in use by this young autocrat. As to how Jim was to do or to give impossible things, he did not concern himself. It was for him to order and them to obey. The summer had passed away and the big red barn had been duly filled with the bountiful crops, when Norine received an unexpected visitor. He was a very slick, smooth-spoken man, genteel and sedate in all his movements. He was a tall man--an exceedingly tall man, Norine thought--who seemed to be made up principally of mouth and whiskers, and he introduced himself as the general agent of the Provident Mutual Benefit Widows’ and Orphans’ Tontine Life Insurance Company of New York, and he expressed a desire to see the widow of the late Clinton Percival. “Is this Mrs. Clinton Percival?” he asked, as Norine entered the room, rising out of his chair in sections as he spoke, like an exaggerated carpenter’s rule. Norine bowed. “My dear madam,” he said, smoothly, almost affectionately, “I have come a long distance to see you. We had expected to hear from you before this, but of course we can understand your great affliction. Pardon me when I say that the Widows’ and Orphans’ Tontine Insurance Company fully appreciate your loss--and our own.” Norine motioned to a chair, and he folded himself up in it and waited for her to speak. “I am afraid, sir,” she said, after an embarrassing pause, “that I hardly understand you. Was my husband connected with your company?” “Connected with my company?” repeated the agent, with a look of astonishment directed at Norine’s feet.