We talked of the day we had first met in the school yard in East Foxboro; those walks homeward in the late afternoons; the day that Bernie Gridley had driven old Caleb’s mare home in terror because Nat wished to present her with a deceased rodent as a gift with which she could “trim up a room.” We lived again our early days in Paris, Bernie’s birthday party when Nathan presented the little girl with a bust of Cæsar, the “happiest day” off in the woods at the Sunday-school picnic. “By the way,” said I suddenly, “what’s become of Bernie, anyhow? I don’t think she’s been back here to Paris since her mother died.” “Old Caleb told me one evening, Bill, and I’ve always considered it confidential; but I guess there’s no harm in telling you—now. Most every one in Paris thinks she went abroad after school, with some friends from Springfield.” “And didn’t she?” “No, she didn’t. Bernie got into trouble with a man. The trip abroad was only camouflage to cover up the scandal. She never went abroad. Her baby didn’t live and I guess it hardened Bernie—the whole experience. And if the truth were known, I think that’s what killed her mother. It was a body blow to the Duchess ‘after the nice way in which Bernice-Theresa had always been brought up.’ You remember how she suddenly withdrew from her grand direction of village and church affairs under the excuse she had heart trouble. It wasn’t heart trouble. The woman’s bump of ego got the _coup de grâce_, Bill. It finished her!” “Old Caleb knew?” “In time he found out. But—poor old Caleb! Do you know what he remarked to me one night, Bill?” “I can’t imagine.” “It was the Sunday night that I’d first quarreled with Mildred because her father brought gin into our house and got drunk at Sunday dinner. I went up to spend the evening with Caleb and get cheered. I had to tell him something of what I was going through with Milly. That recalled my experience with Carol and even something of my earlier calf-love for his daughter. He was silent for a long time and then he sighed. ‘Bub,’ said he, ‘don’t think you’re the only man on earth, young or old, that ain’t been able to get along with women nor understand ’em.’ You can imagine how he said it. ‘You’ll find there’s lots of fellows can pal with men and make friendships the grave can’t bury. But when it comes to the weaker sex, life’s just one dam’ thing after another. And most of ’em wears petticoats and gets their way with tears,’ said he. Poor old Gridley! I guess he’s had his family troubles, too.” “But what became of Bernie?”