"That's my theodolite. There's a tripod in one of my boxes. I'll get it and mount it, and we'll have a shot at the chimney. "What do you mean?" "Oh, nothing! I'm going to measure it. Wouldn't you like to help me?" "With all my heart. Tell me what to do." "Presently. Wait till I've screwed things together; then I'll tell you what to do. Oh! By the way, I must tell you an amusing episode that happened at the railroad station while I was waiting for my luggage. There was a young man sending off a message at the little telegraph station, and I overheard the message and the comments of the operator." Alma didn't appear to enjoy this incident. "Not listening intentionally, you know. It was the telegraph I heard, not the people." Alma felt better. "It was all by mere sounds, and it ran this way: 'The old fool is here again.' That's what she said--the operator, I mean. 'To Isaac Abrams, 1,607 Barclay street, New York. I have secured the will. Foreclose the mortgage and realize at once. Get two state rooms for the 25th.--L. B.' That was the message, and it was so very strange I wrote it out in my---- Oh! Beg pardon, Miss Denny. Are you ill?" Alma's face had assumed a sudden pallor, and she seemed frightened and ill at ease. "'Tis nothing--really nothing! I shall be better presently." Then, as if anxious to change the conversation, she began to ask rapid questions about the theodolite and its uses. Mr. Franklin was too well bred to notice anything, but he confessed to himself that he had said something awkward, and, for the life of him, he could not imagine what it might be. He replied briefly, and then went on with his preparations for some time in silence, Alma meanwhile looking on with the greatest interest. The theodolite having been put together, Mr. Franklin opened another box and took out a wooden tripod, such as are used to support such instruments. He also took out a fine steel ribbon, or measuring tape, neatly wound up on a reel. "You shall carry that, Miss Denny, and I'll shoulder the theodolite." "Wait till I get my hat and the sun umbrella." "To be sure; it will be warm in the fields." Alma was soon arrayed in a dainty chip. At least she called it a chip, and the historian can do naught but repeat her language. Besides this, it was not bigger than a chip, and it looked very pretty tied under her chin. Over her head she carried its real protection, an immense Japanese paper umbrella, light, airy, and generous. "Where are you going, Alma?" said Mr. Denny. "Oh! only to the fields for a little walk. We'll be back presently." The confidential clerk thought it strange that the daughter of the house should be so free with the stranger. But the young people were distant cousins, and it wouldn't have been polite in him to have objected to the little walk. So the two, under the friendly shade of the big paper umbrella, went out to see the new chimney, while Mr. Denny and the confidential clerk staid behind to talk business.