“Just so,” agreed Amos, cheerfully. “And then _you_ went to Foley, Miss Cary. Trust an Irishman for hiding anybody in trouble! But how did the house catch fire? Did you—” But old Margaret protested vehemently that here at least she was sackless; and Mrs. Raker unexpectedly came to the rescue. “I guess I can tell that much,” said she. “’Squire came back, and he’s got burns all over him, and he’s cut with glass bad! I guess he jumped back into the house and upset a lamp once too often!” “I see it all,” said Amos. “And then you came back to rescue your nephew—” “No, sir,” cried Margaret Cary; “I came back because they said you were in trouble. It’s wicked, but I couldn’t bear the thought he’d take me back to the crazies. I’m an old woman; and when you’re old you want to live in a house of your own, in your own way, and not be crowded. And it’s so awful to be crowded by crazies! I couldn’t bear it. I said he must take his chance; and I wouldn’t read the papers for fear they would shake my resolution. It was Foley read your advertisement to me. And then I knew if you were in danger, whatever happened to me, I would have to go.” Amos wheeled round on young Allerton. “Now, young fellow,” said he, “speak out. Tell your aunt you won’t touch a hair of her head; and she may have her little invisible family gatherings all she likes.” Allerton, smiling, came forward and took his aunt’s trembling hand. “You shall stay here or go home to your sister, who loves you, whichever you choose; and you shall be as safe and free there as here,” said he. And looking into his dark eyes—the Cary eyes—she believed him. The youngest reporter never heard the details of the Clark mystery, but no doubt he made quite as good a story as if he had known the truth. THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF THE DEFEAT OF AMOS WICKLIFF “What’s the matter with Amos?” Mrs. Smith asked Ruth Graves; “the boy doesn’t seem like himself at all.” Amos, at this speaking, was nearer forty than thirty; but ever since her own son’s death he had been “her boy” to Edgar’s mother. She looked across at Ruth with a wistful kindling of her dim eyes. “You—you haven’t said anything to Amos to hurt his feelings, Ruth?” Ruth, busy over her embroidery square, set her needle in with great nicety, and replied, “I don’t think so, dear.” Her color did not turn nor her features stir, and Mrs. Smith sighed.