The curtains were drawn, as they always were on sunny days, and the room was in deep shadow. Mother had been asleep, I think, but she heard my step and recognized it. “Is that you, Boy?” she asked. If I had been fifty, instead of thirty-one, Mother would have called me “Boy” just the same. “Yes, Mother,” I said. “Where have you been? For a walk? It is a beautiful morning, isn't it.” Her only way of knowing that the morning was a beautiful one was that the shades were drawn. She had not seen the sunlight on the bay, nor the blue sky; she had not felt the spring breeze on her face, or the green grass beneath her feet. Her only glimpses of the outside world were those which she got on cloudy or stormy days when the shades were raised a few inches and, turning her head on the pillow, she could see beneath them. For six years she had been helpless and bedridden in that little room. But she never complained. I told her that I had been uptown for a walk. “Did you meet any one?” she asked. I said that I had met Captain Dean and Newcomb and the rest. I said nothing of my encounter with the motor car. “Captain Jed graciously informed me that his wife might be down to sit with you this afternoon,” I said. “Provided she didn't have anything else to do; he took pains to add that. You mustn't see her, of course.” She smiled. “Why not?” she asked. “Matilda is a little tiresome at times, but she means well.” “Humph! Mother, I think you would make excuses for the Old Harry himself. That woman will talk you to death.” “Oh, no! Not as bad as that. And poor Matilda doesn't talk much at home, I'm afraid.” “Her husband sees to that; I don't blame him. By the way, the Captain had a queer bee in his bonnet this morning. He seems to be thinking of buying some of our property.” I told her of Jedediah's interest in the Shore Lane and his hint concerning its possible purchase. She listened and then said thoughtfully: “What have you decided to do about it, Roscoe?” “I haven't decided at all. What do you think, Mother?” “It seems to me that I shouldn't sell, at least until I knew his reason for wanting to buy. It would be different if we needed the money, but, of course, we don't.” “Of course,” I said, hastily. “But why not sell? We don't use the land.” “No. But the Denboro people need that Lane. They use it a great deal. If it were closed it would put many of them to a great inconvenience, particularly those who get their living alongshore. Every one in Denboro has been so kind to us. I feel that we owe them a debt we never can repay.” “No one could help being kind to you, Mother. Oh! I have another piece of news. Did you know that our new neighbors, the Coltons, have arrived?” “Yes. Dorinda told me. Have you met any of them?” “No.” “Dorinda says Mrs. Colton is an invalid. Poor woman! it must be hard to be ill when one has so much to enjoy. Dorinda says they have a very pretty daughter.”