“But it's raining pitchforks,” I said. “You'll be wet through.” “No, I won't. I'll have Doc Quimby here in no time.” He drove off and Nellie Dean went into Mother's room. I had always considered Nellie a milk-and-watery young female, but somehow her quiet ways and soft voice seemed just what were needed in a sick room. I left the two together and came out to wait for Taylor and the doctor. But they did not come. The storm was under full headway now, and the wind was dashing the rain in sheets against the windows. I waited nearly an hour and still no sign of the doctor. Nellie came out of Mother's room and closed the door softly behind her. “She's quiet now,” she whispered. “I think she's asleep. Where do you suppose George is?” “Goodness knows!” I answered. “I shouldn't have let him go, a night like this.” “I'm afraid you couldn't stop him if his mind was made up. He's dreadful determined when he sets out to be.” “He's a good fellow,” I said, to please her. She worshipped the cashier, a fact of which all Denboro was aware, and which caused gossip to report that she did the courting for the two. She blushed and smiled. “He thinks a lot of you,” she observed. “He's always talking to me about you. It's a good thing you're a man or I should be jealous.” I smiled. “I seem to be talked about generally, just now,” said I. “Are you? Oh, you mean about the Shore Lane. Yes, Pa can't make you out about that. He says you've got something up your sleeve and he hasn't decided what it is. I asked George what Pa meant and he just laughed. He said whatever you had in your sleeve was your affair and, if he was any judge of character, it would stay there till you got ready to shake it out. He always stood up for you, even before the Shore Lane business happened. I think he likes you better than any one else in Denboro.” “Present company excepted, of course.” “Oh, of course. If that wasn't excepted I should REALLY be jealous. Then,” more seriously, “Roscoe, does it seem to you that George is worried or troubled about something lately?” I thought of Taylor's sudden change of expression that day in the bank, and of his remark that he wished he had my chance. But I concealed my thoughts. “The prospect of marriage is enough to make any man worried, isn't it?” I asked. “I imagine he realizes that he isn't good enough for you.” There was sarcasm in this remark, sarcasm of which I should have been ashamed. But she took it literally and as a compliment. She looked at me reproachfully. “Good enough for me!” she exclaimed. “He! Sometimes I wonder if it is right for me to be so happy. I feel almost as if it was wrong. As if something must happen to punish me for it.” I did not answer. To tell the truth, I was envious. There was real happiness in the world. This country girl had found it; that Mabel Colton would, no doubt, find it some day--unless she married her Victor, in which case I had my doubts. But what happiness was in store for me?