"Suppose I see if we can get her?" suggested Lucy. "Well," returned Ellen, with a reluctant groan, "I reckon you'll have to. You can send Tony for her when he gets back, though how he'll find her I don't know. You might's well hunt for a needle in a haystack as to track down Melviny. She's liable to be most anywheres tendin' babies or trimmin' bunnits; an' Tony's such a numskull." "I guess we can locate her." "Well, pack him off anyhow, the minute he gets home; an' tell him not to do any unnecessary travelin', an' to keep where the ground is smooth if he can. There's no use wearin' out Dolly's new shoes by trapesin' over the stones in 'em the first thing. Don't be afraid to speak up good and sharp to Tony. He's used to it an' understands it better. Ain't it the devil's own luck I should be chained down here like this!" "Maybe you'll be better before long." "Don't be a fool," snarled Ellen. "Of course I shan't." She closed her eyes, and Lucy saw her face first harden into a rebellious frown, then relax into sleep. As soon as the girl was quite sure she would not be heard, she went to the window and, drawing aside the curtain, waved her handkerchief. Evidently Martin Howe was awaiting the signal, for on receiving it he sprang up from the chopping block where he was sitting and, returning the salute, disappeared into the barn from which he presently emerged with his surrey and bay mare. Lucy lingered to see him rattle out of the yard and pass over the crest of the hill. Then with a strange sense of comfort and companionship she went back to her aunt's room. She sat there until dusk, watching the sleeping woman upon the bed. Then Melvina arrived. She proved to be a large, placid-faced woman with a countenance from which every human emotion had been eliminated until it was as expressionless as a bronze Buddha. If she had ever known sorrow, delight, affection, surprise, it was so long ago that her reactionary system had forgotten how to reflect these sensations. It was obvious that nothing concerned her outside her immediate calling and that she accepted this with a stoical immovability which was neither to be diverted nor influenced. Taking Lucy's hand in a loose, pudgy grasp she remarked: "A shock?" "Yes, you see, my aunt----" "How old is she?" "A little over seventy-five. I was away and when I----" "First shock?" "Yes." "Where is she?" "Upstairs. But before you see her I want to explain that she is a little--well, peculiar. You may find that she----" "I shan't pay no attention," replied Melvina indifferently. "I've seen all sorts--fretters, groaners, whiners, scolders; they're all one to me. So you needn't give yourself any uneasiness." She spoke in a voice as humdrum and colorless as was her round, flabby face, and Lucy smiled in spite of herself. "I fancy it isn't really necessary for me to tell you anything then," she answered good-humoredly. "Of course you have had a wonderful chance to study personalities."