"Well, yes, I guess I am," he said. "Gee! little girl, it is fine to have a place to come to like this." He caught her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. "In a snug place like this a man can throw off his troubles easier than anywhere else. Sam calls it 'a cottage of delight,' and that's what it is." "Troubles?" she repeated, stealing a look into his face. "Have you troubles, my darling?" She thought that he avoided her direct gaze, and she was sure that she felt him start slightly, and that his immediate kiss was somewhat more mechanical than usual. "Oh, every fellow in my business has more or less worries," he parried, awkwardly. "You see, a good deal depends on my judgment, and now and then Sam and I disagree on little details of construction, and we have to argue it out to a finish." "Have you had any disagreement to-day?" Tilly was probing him desperately, knowing well that the subject had naught to do with the weight on her breast and his. "Oh no, not to-day," he said, lightly. "Don't be alarmed. Sam and I work all right together. He's always talking about me and him going into partnership. He wants to tie me here, you see; but I don't know. The world is wide, and I could make a living anywhere." They finished their supper and went to sit on the porch, where the air circulated better than in the house. "I had a caller to-day," she suddenly announced. "What, a--a-- You say you had a--" He broke off, and then finished in a breath of seeming relief. "Oh, Mrs. Cavanaugh! Sam said she would soon be up; but from what he said I thought she'd be in bed for another week at least." "It wasn't Mrs. Cavanaugh." Tilly's hand was in his and she felt his calloused fingers twitch and remain tense while he waited for her to finish. "It was the little girl from your house." His fingers shook. He stared at her through the twilight. She saw his lips move as if for utterance, but no sound came forth. It was an awkward moment for them both. "Oh, so she came!" John finally got out. "I thought she was too backward to--to go anywhere." "She was timid at first," Tilly said, choking down the despair that seemed to rise in her throat like a fluid; "but I gave her some cake and made her feel at home the best I could." There was another turgid pause. John managed to break it, inexpert though he was in the verbal finesse he was evidently trying to use. "She is a queer little imp," he said. "Don't you think so?" "Yes, very, very strange, for a child of her age. I think she liked me pretty well, and--and I did her. She ought to be taught. Can she read or write? I didn't think to ask her." "She doesn't know B from a bull's track." John tried to smile, as he forced a laugh. "Yes, she ought to be taught, I guess." He was silent for a moment, and then he resumed: "What did she have to say? She can talk a regular blue streak at times, and I am wondering--wondering--"