As the sister walked up the path again to the silent old home she whispered to herself: "Poor old Steve! Dear old fellow! What a queer world this is!" While Phebe was away from home that evening Nanna sat for a while in the desk in the grocery department; she often did so when a quiet time was expected. "I shall write a book some day," she used to say, "and the title will be 'From the Mangle to the Desk.'" Certainly she looked wonderfully wise there with her spectacles on her nose. All at once she was attracted by the sound of a voice. Her memory for faces was very defective, but for voices very acute. Where had she heard that voice before? Looking up she saw a tall, elderly, shabby-looking man, who every now and again gave a little hacking cough. She watched him as he bought half an ounce of tea, a rasher of bacon, one egg, and half a pound of sugar. Then she heard him say to Reynolds, who was serving him: "Who owns this shop?" "Mrs. Waring." "I wondered who 'P. Waring' was: it used to be 'R. Waring.'" "Yes." "Where is Ralph Waring now?" "I don't know--he went abroad on business." A little stifled laugh: "Oh, did he?" Nanna saw that Reynolds suddenly looked up and gave the man a searching look. When he had gone Reynolds went up to the desk. He was too agitated to speak, and Nanna was feeling just the same. At last she managed to say: "Follow him!" pointing to the door. Just as he was Reynolds rushed to the door; he looked to the right, he looked to the left, but the questioning customer with his cough and his laugh was out of sight, for the gathering gloom of the chilly autumn night made escape easy. It might have been a December night the way Reynolds was shivering. "Was it----?" he asked in a hoarse whisper as he returned to the desk. "Yes," was all her answer. Then, "I must go at once and meet the mistress." "Let me go." "No, that would never do. She would wonder what was the matter, and as long as possible we must keep it from her." As fast as she could the dear old lady hurried along the lonely country road. The little, stifled sarcastic laugh was still sounding in her ears, a laugh that spoke of a heart unchanged except as trouble had soured it. At last she heard footsteps--light ones--she could see a woman's form! Yes, it was her dear Phebe, and, thank God, she was alone! "Why, Nanna!" exclaimed Phebe, as soon as she recognised her; "whatever brought you out a night like this?"--kissing her on the cheek and taking hold of her arm. "To take care of you, dearie, to be sure; and, besides, I wanted a walk." "On a night like this?" "Yes, I felt stifled like," which was quite true. Phebe's suspicions were aroused, but finding all well at home, concluded it was just some whim of the dear old soul's, or else she had suddenly been seized with some unaccountable fear, as is sometimes the case even with young folks. CHAPTER XXV BESSIE COMES TO THE RESCUE