DEACON BAXTER drove into the barn, and flinging a blanket over the wheezing horse, closed the door behind him and hurried into the house without even thinking to lay down his whip. Opening the kitchen door and stopping outside long enough to kick the snow from his heavy boots, he strode into the kitchen and confronted the two girls. He looked at them sharply before he spoke, scanning their flushed faces and tear-stained eyes; then he broke out savagely:-- “Oh! you're both here; that's lucky. Now stan' up and answer to me. What's this I hear at the Mills about Patience,--common talk outside the store?” The time had come, then, and by some strange fatality, when Mark was too far away to be of service. “Tell me what you heard, father, and I can give you a better answer,” Patty replied, hedging to gain time, and shaking inwardly. “Bill Morrill says his brother that works in New Hampshire reports you as ridin' through the streets of Allentown last Monday with a young man.” There seemed but one reply to this, so Patty answered tremblingly: “He says what's true; I was there.” “WHAT!” And it was plain from the Deacon's voice that he had really disbelieved the rumor. A whirlwind of rage swept through him and shook him from head to foot. “Do you mean to stan' there an' own up to me that you was thirty miles away from home with a young man?” he shouted. “If you ask me a plain question, I've got to tell you the truth, father: I was.” “How dare you carry on like that and drag my name into scandal, you worthless trollop, you? Who went along with you? I'll skin the hide off him, whoever 't was!” Patty remained mute at this threat, but Waitstill caught her hand and whispered: “Tell him all, dear; it's got to come out. Be brave, and I'll stand by you.” “Why are you interferin' and puttin' in your meddlesome oar?” the Deacon said, turning to Waitstill. “The girl would never 'a' been there if you'd attended to your business. She's nothin' but a fool of a young filly, an' you're an old cart-horse. It was your job to look out for her as your mother told you to. Anybody might 'a' guessed she needed watchin'!” “You shall not call my sister an old cart-horse! I'll not permit it!” cried Patty, plucking up courage in her sister's defence, and as usual comporting herself a trifle more like a spitfire than a true heroine of tragedy. “Hush, Patty! Let him call me anything that he likes; it makes no difference at such a time.” “Waitstill knew nothing of my going away till this afternoon,” continued Patty. “I kept it secret from her on purpose, because I was afraid she would not approve. I went with Mark Wilson, and--and--I married him in New Hampshire because we couldn't do it at home without every-body's knowledge. Now you know all.”