But Nathalie, who had had to depend upon Sam for a certain amount of necessary knowledge in relation to the house and garden, had not only grown to depend upon him in many ways, but had become quite friendly with him. She had learned that he was a level-headed, well-meaning young man and that his eyes could twinkle responsively, even if he was somewhat slow of tongue. As he began to show Nathalie how to select the heads with the soundest hearts, she told him how she had been caught in the thunderstorm the afternoon before and the kindness of the inmates of the Sweet Pea Tea-House. “Sure, Miss, they be nice ladies,” assented Sam. “I’ve knowed them this long time. They were born in that old house, but when the old man Whipple growed rich—some relative or t’other left him a pile o’ money—they went skylarking down to Boston—thought we country folks weren’t smart enough fur them, I reckon. But when the old man’s luck went agin him and he died, them gals come home to roost. I feel right sorry for them, for the Lord knows they don’t have no stuffin’s to their turkey these days. Too bad about the tea-house er goin’ to shucks, for sure it use ter bring in er penny er two in the sellin’ o’ them posies. “I see ole Jakes, with his old flivver a wheezin’ and blowin’ up these ere hills, er takin’ them to the hotels er pile er times. By Gosh, that Jakes sure is ole, fer he’s been er luggin’ round these parts with one foot half-buried fer the last ten years. When he goes off the handle what’ll become of the poor ole ladies—the folks hereabouts are er guessin’. That deaf-and-dumb one—she makes me feel sort er lonesome.” Sam suddenly confided, “with no gift of gab to er, and t’other one with the rheumatics, sure they do be afflicted.” Nathalie also told Sam about meeting their neighbor in the little red house. But when she questioned him as to who she was, and if she lived there all alone, his face became impassive and he grew evasive in his answers. Surmising that he might possibly be a relative of hers—as she had seen him working about the place, she said no more, but hurried into the house, her mind intent on the Sweet-Pea ladies and their pathetic little story, as told by Sam. “What a misfortune,” she mused, “to be poor, an invalid, and with only a deaf-and-dumb sister to depend upon. O dear! what terrible things people have to suffer when they grow old. Well, I shall have to go this afternoon and return that umbrella, and—yes, I just wish I could do something to help them in some way, for Miss Whipple is a dear!”