"Goodness knows, Obadiah," protested Aunt Kate, "a body would think it was Christmas." She viewed him doubtfully. "I am afraid that you were always inclined to be a little extravagant." From the moment that his daughter embraced him, happiness had filled the soul of the mill owner. The difficulties of the past few days were forgotten. He beamed at his sister, generosity oozing from every pore. "Your house needs painting, Kate. I'll have it done. I'll sell that plug of a horse you have and buy you one that is broken or get you an automobile." "Stop right there, Obadiah," she commanded. "I have managed my affairs for years without your help. When you talk about selling a horse like Archimedes, I doubt your judgment. Look there!" She pointed proudly through the window. "Who'd care to own a finer horse than that?" Even as the assembled ones followed Aunt Kate's finger, Archimedes, wearied by the prolonged call, gathered his feet beneath him and with a care for the shafts evidencing practice, sank to the ground. From this position of comfort, usually reserved by most well bred horses for the privacy of the box stall, Archimedes viewed his surroundings apparently with great complacency. CHAPTER XXII NOBODY HOME, MR. DEVIL The October night was clear, with a bite in the air which foretold sharp frosts and winter's snows. There was no wind, only a great silence, as if all nature had tucked itself away for a long night's rest. On the eastern horizon, there was a dull glow as if it were the reflections of a great conflagration. The light of it brightened, and slowly over the edge of things arose a golden streak, the curved top of the moon. In stately dignity, it ascended towards the zenith, its gold changing to silver and its beams bathing the world in a flood of gentle light. Over field and forest and plain the soft veil advanced, spreading its magic silvery sheen until all it touched became a mysterious fairyland. In this delicate mantle were enfolded the huts of the poor and the palaces of the rich, the lonely dwelling and the massed houses of great cities. The thriving municipality of South Ridgefield was lighted by this mild illumination which painted with a gleaming brush the residence of Mrs. Henderson, and even tinged the bald head of that learned lawyer, Hezekiah Wilkins, who, seated upon the porch railing, gazed heavenward and told the widow, "It's a beautiful moon, Mary. I have always admired the moon. It's the friend of youth. Since the beginning of time it has been the one welcome third party at sentimental trysts. If the moon were a gossip what stories it could tell. What vows have been uttered in its presence and signed and sealed--" "And broken, Hezekiah?" suggested Hennie. "What if the moon should turn tattletale, Mary?"