“Ails me?” I repeated, crossly. “Nothing ails me, of course.” “Well, I'm glad to hear it. You look as if you'd lost your last friend.” “I haven't lost any friends. Far from it.” “Nobody's dead, then?” “No. Though I could find some who are half dead without trying very hard.” More perfectly good sarcasm wasted. Lute inquired eagerly if I meant old Mrs. Lobelia Glover. “I heard yesterday she was pretty feeble,” he added. “'Tain't to be expected she'll last a long spell, at her age. Doctor Quimby says she had a spine in her back for twenty years.” I made no comment upon poor Mrs. Glover's surprising affliction. I merely grunted and went into the house. Dorinda looked at me curiously. “What's the trouble?” she asked. “Trouble! There isn't any trouble. You and Lute seem to be looking for trouble.” “Don't have to look far to find it, in this world. Anything wrong at the bank?” “No.” “Um-hm. Settin' so long on the fence make you uneasy? I told you the pickets would wear through if you roosted on 'em too long.” “There is nothing the matter, I tell you. How is Mother?” “She ain't any wuss. If 'twan't an impossibility I'd say she was better the last month than I'd seen her since she was took. Nellie Dean called on her this afternoon.” “Humph! I should think a next week's bride would be too busy to call on any one except possibly the dressmaker.” “Um-hm. Well, Nellie looks as if she'd been callin' on the dressmaker pretty often. Anyhow she looked worried and Olindy Cahoon's dressmakin' gabble is enough to worry anybody. She left a note for you.” “Who? Olinda?” “Land sakes! no! What would Olindy be doin' down here? There ain't any brides to dress in this house, or bridegrooms either unless you're cal'latin' to be one, or Lute turns Mormon. That last notion ain't such a bad one,” with a dry smile. “Another wife or two to help me take care of him would come in handy.” “Who did leave the note for me, then?” “Nellie, of course. She wanted me to be sure you got it. Somethin' about that wonderful weddin', I s'pose. I left it upstairs on your bureau.” I found the note and put it in my pocket to read later on. I did not feel like reading it then. I did not feel like doing anything or seeing any one; yet least of all did I feel like being alone. For if I was alone I should think, and I did not want to think. I prowled about my room for a time and then went down and spent a short time with Mother. Her first question was concerning my day at the bank, and her second if I had seen any of the Coltons recently. “I rather hoped Miss Mabel would come to see me to-day,” she added. “I look forward to her visits so, I think she's a real friend of ours, Roscoe. I know you don't, dear, or you try to believe you do not; but she is--I am convinced of it. I wonder if she will come to-morrow.”