“Oh, well, if they insist, we’ll go away again, and let them have it out comfortably. Queer thing, for Daughter and Dad to make a habit of scrapping!” “I take Mrs Varian’s statements with a grain of salt,” said Claire, sagely. “She’s not awfully well balanced, that woman, and I doubt if Betty and her father are half as black as they’re painted. Shall we ring the bell or walk right in?” But this question needed no answer, for as they mounted the steps of the verandah and neared the open front door, they were confronted by the sight of Mr Frederick Varian sprawled at full length on the floor of the hall. “Oh, heavens, what is the matter?” cried Claire; “the man has had a stroke or something!” Landon went nearer, and with a grave face, stooped down to the prostrate figure. “Claire,” he whispered, looking up at her with a white face, “Claire, this man is dead.” “What? No,—no! it can’t be——” “Yes, he is,—I’m almost certain,—I don’t think I’d better touch him,—or, should I? It can do no harm to feel for his heart,—no, it is not beating,—what does it mean? Where’s Miss Varian?” “Think quickly, Mr Landon, what we ought to do.” Claire Blackwood spoke earnestly, and tried to pull herself together. “We must be careful to do the right thing. I should say, before we even think of Miss Betty we should call Doctor Varian up here——” “The very thing! Will you call him, or shall I?” Considerately, Landon gave her her choice. With a shuddering glance at the still figure, Claire said, “You call him, but let me go with you.” They stepped out on the veranda, and Landon waved his hand at the group of waiting people below him. Then he beckoned, but no one definitely responded. “I’ll have to shout,” Ted said, with a regretful look. “Somehow I hate to,——” the presence of death seemed to restrain him. But of necessity, he called out, “Doctor Varian,—come here.” The distance was almost too far for his voice to carry, but because of his imperative gestures, Herbert Varian said: “Guess I’ll have to go. Lord! What can be the trick they’re trying to cut up? I vow I won’t come back here! I’ll eat my picnic in your dining-room, Minna.” “As you like,” she returned, indifferently. “I hate picnics, anyway. But for goodness’ sake, Herbert, do one thing or the other. If you’d really rather not go to the woods, take your baskets, and we’ll all go back to the house. It’s getting late, anyway.” “Wait a bit,” counseled the doctor. “You people stay here, till I go up to the house, and see what’s doing. Then if I beckon you, come along back, all of you. If I don’t break my neck getting up there!” “Don’t go, Father,” begged Eleanor; “let me go. What in the world can they want of you?” “No,—I’ll go. I suppose there’s a leak in the pipes or something.” Herbert Varian went off at a gait that belied his recalcitrant attitude, and as he neared the house, he could see the white faces and grave air of the two that awaited him.