"It was Mary's fault," Tim said. "I came back as soon as I could, sir. Mr. Mills sent me up on the night train--out this afternoon in a livery rig--here afoot just as fast as Mark would let me--then Mary blocked the way. Mark was going to tell me something when she dropped the candle." "Why, don't you know--" began Weston. But over my brother's shoulders I shook my head sternly at him and he stopped and broke into a laugh. Mrs. Elmer Spiker was standing by him; the young doctor was moving about the room, apparently very busy; Mrs. Tip Pulsifer was peeping in at the door. "Didn't you know," said Weston, "how I'd shot myself all to pieces, and how there's a live fox in the hollows across the ridge?" "Mark told me of it," answered the innocent Tim, "and I'm glad to find it is not serious. They were worried at the store. Mr. Mills was for coming right away, but we got word you were better, and he thought I should run up anyway for a day to see if we could do anything. I'm to go back to-morrow." "It was good of you to come," Weston said, "but there is nothing to be done. Just tell Mills the whole valley is nursing me; tell him that I've one nurse alone who is worth a score." Mrs. Spiker looked very conscious, but Weston smiled at Mary. Then he quickly added: "Tell him that Mrs. Bolum and Mrs. Spiker and Mrs. Pulsifer--" he paused to make sure that none was missed--"and Mark here are a hospital corps, taken singly or in a body." "I've told him that already," said Tim. "He knows everybody in Six Stars, I guess, and he says as soon as you get well and come back to the office, he will take a holiday himself, fox hunting." "Poor little Colonel!" murmured Weston. "He'll have a melancholy career. And Mary, too, she'll----" "But it was when I told him about Mary that he made up his mind to come," Tim said. "Indeed." The girl spoke very quietly. "And, perhaps, Tim, you'll send Edith along to help us. We women of Black Log are so clumsy." "A good idea," said Weston. "Capital. You must bring Miss Smyth up, too, Tim." "Parker," I corrected, "Edith Parker." "But is it Parker?" Weston appealed to my brother. "Mark tells me she's the book-keeper's daughter. Has old Smyth gone?" "No," Tim stammered, very much confused. "I guess you don't know Parker. He's come lately." "That explains it, then," said Weston. But he turned and looked away from us, his brow knitted. Something seemed to puzzle him, for he was frowning, but by and by the old cynical smile came back. He said suddenly: "Tim, I wish you luck. I'm glad anyway it isn't Smyth's daughter. That was what I couldn't understand. Ever see Smyth's daughter? No. Well, you needn't bemoan it. I dare say Miss Parker is all you picture her, and I hope you'll win." "Don't you think you'd better rest now?" asked Tim, with sudden solicitation. Though he addressed himself to Weston, his eyes were appealing to the doctor.