She was standing by the window, holding aside the curtain of flowered chintz, and after a moment she added curiously: "There's a light in the fields, Aunt Saidie. What does it mean?" Crossing the room, Miss Saidie followed the gesture with which Maria pointed into the night. "That's on the Blake place," she said; "it must be Mr. Christopher moving about with his lantern." "You call him Mr. Christopher?" "Oh, it slipped out. His father's name was Christopher before him, and I used to open the gate for him when I was a child. Many and many a time the old gentleman's given me candy out of his pocket, or a quarter to buy a present, and one Christmas he brought me a real wax doll from the city. He wasn't old then, I can tell you, and he was as handsome as if he had stepped out of a fashion plate. Why, young Mr. Christopher can't hold a candle to him for looks." "He was a gentleman, then? I mean the old man." "Who? Mr. Christopher's father? I don't reckon thar was a freer or a finer between here and London." Maria's gaze was still on the point of light which twinkled faintly here and there in the distant field. "Then how, in heaven's name, did he come to this?" she asked, in a voice that was hardly louder than a whisper. "I never knew; I never knew," protested Miss Saidie, going back to her chair beside the hearth. "Brother Bill and he hate each other worse than death, and it was Will's fancy for Mr. Christopher that brought on this awful trouble. For a time, I declare it looked as if the boy was really bewitched, and they were together morning, noon, and night. Your grandpa never got over it, and I believe he blames Mr. Christopher for every last thing that's happened--Molly Peterkin and all." "Molly Peterkin?" repeated Maria inquiringly. "Why, how absurd! And, after all, what is the matter with the girl?" Dropping the curtain, she came over to the fire, and sat listening attentively while Miss Saidie told, in spasmodic jerks and pauses, the foolish story of Will's marriage. "Your grandpa will never forgive him--never, never. He has turned him out for good and all, and he talks now of leaving every cent of his money to foreign missions." "Well, we'll see," said Maria soothingly. "I'll go over there to- morrow and talk with Will, and then I'll try to bring grandfather to some kind of reason. He can't let them starve, rich as he is, there's no sense in that--and if the worst comes, I can at least share the little I have with them. It may supply them with bread, if Molly will undertake to churn her own butter." "Then your money went, too?" "The greater part of it. Jack was fond of wild schemes, you know. I left it in his hands." She had pronounced the dead man's name so composedly that Miss Saidie, after an instant's hesitation, brought herself to an allusion to the girl's loss. "How you must miss him, dear," she ventured timidly; "even if he wasn't everything he should have been to you, he was still your husband."