I took the letter from my pocket and read it again. “I should like to see you . . . on a matter of business.” What business could “Yours truly, James W. Colton” have with me? And Captain Jed also had talked business. I supposed that I had given up business long ago and for good; now, all at once, it seemed to be hunting me. Well, all the hunting should be on its side. At another time I might have treated the great Colton's “summons to court” as a joke. I might, like Mother, have regarded the curtness of the command and its general tone of taking my prompt obedience for granted as an expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of mind, and nothing more. He was used to having people jump when he snapped his fingers. But now it made me angry. I sympathized with Dean and Alvin Baker. The possession of money did not necessarily imply omnipotence. This was Cape Cod, not New York. His Majesty might, as Captain Jed put it, have blown his Imperial nose, but I, for one, wouldn't “lay in a supply of handkerchiefs”--not yet. I heard a rustle in the bushes and, turning my head, saw Lute coming along the path. He was walking fast--fast for him, that is--and seemed to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him to forget prudence. He looked carefully about to be sure his wife was not in sight, before he spoke. “Dorindy ain't been here sence I've been gone, has she?” was his first question. “I guess not,” said I. “She has been in the house since I got back. But I don't know how long you've been gone.” “Only a few minutes. I--I just stepped over 'cross the Lane for a jiffy, that's all. Say, by time; them Coltons must have money!” “That's a habit of millionaires, I believe.” “Hey? What do you mean by that? If they didn't have money they couldn't be millionaires, could they? How'd you like to be a millionaire, Ros?” “I don't know. I never tried.” “By time! I'D like to try a spell. I've been over lookin' 'round their place. You never see such a place! Why, their front doorstep's big as this yard, pretty nigh.” “Does it have to be raked?” I asked. “Raked! Whoever heard of rakin' a doorstep?” “Give it up! But it does seem to me that I have heard of raking a yard. I think Dorinda mentioned that, didn't she?” Lute looked at me: then he hurried over and picked up the rake which was lying near the barn, a pile--a very small pile--of chips and leaves beside it. “When did she mention it?” he asked. “A week ago, I think, was the first time. She has referred to it occasionally since. She was mentioning it to you when I went up town this morning. I heard her.” Lute looked relieved. “Oh, THEN!” he said. “I thought you meant lately. Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros,” he added, eagerly, “did you go to the post-office when you was uptown? Was there a letter there for you?” “What makes you think there was?”