“Yes, I know. I hope you're right. Maybe you are. He'll be kept busy for awhile anyway, learning to groom the horses and milk the cows. That'll be good for him. Queer case, isn't it. Quite like a story. It has interested me immensely. Been a queer sort of day all around for me. If every day was like it I'd never get any business done. Came right in a busy season, too. Oh, I don't mean about the boy. That was because you were interested in him. I'd do as much any time you asked it--do it gladly. But I ran across Myers while I was over at the court building. He is going West, you know, for his wife's health, and wants to sell his house. You know it, don't you?--over on the Lake Front. He wants to sell bad and offers the place for next to nothing, so I promised him I'd stroll down there to-night and have a look at it. How would you like to go along? Your taste's rather better than mine, I think.” “Why--isn't it a little late?” He had never talked like this before; she was puzzled. “No--not so very--about nine. But I see you're tired, so don't think of it. Tell you what I'll do--I'll get him to let me have the plans, and we'll look them over together, and you tell me how they strike you. If it is in as good shape as I think I believe I'll buy--that is, if I can get a clear title.” “It is very attractive along the shore.” “That's the way it strikes me. And with good horses you'd hardly mind the distance. He says his library is finished in rose tints and Flemish oak. How does that sound?” “Very pretty, I should think.” “Yes, doesn't it? So you really like the idea? I'm glad of that. You're the one I care most about pleasing.” He rose and looked down at her. “There's no use telling me you aren't tired: I can see it. You've worked like a good one to-day, and I'm going to let you get a little rest.” She rose. “I'll bring up the plans sometime before Sunday, and we'll go over them and see what we make of it. Good-night.” She smiled wearily and stood there until he had left the house; then she went upstairs and into Mrs. Davies's room. “Mother,” she said, with an odd little smile, “I want to go away.” “Where, child?” “I don't know---East, perhaps.” Mrs. Davies looked quietly up from her knitting. “'How long have you been thinking of this?” she asked. “Not very long--just to-day.” They looked at each other for a moment in that same quiet way--Margaret still smiling, but with a suspicious shine in her eyes. Then suddenly she came over, slipped to the floor, and buried her face on her arms in her mother's lap. After a long silence Mrs. Davies asked: “When would you like to go, dear?” There was no reply. “Very soon?” Margaret raised her head a little way and was apparently about to speak, then lowered it again. “Would you like to go this week?” Still there was silence. But Mrs. Davies seemed to understand. “We might get away by Thursday or Friday, dearie, if you can get ready. Can you?”