“Mama’s all broken up,” he remarked at last, rising. “I reckon I’d better go up and quiet her.” He moved slowly toward the door, carrying his boots. At the door he paused and looked back. “I haven’t said anything to William,” he remarked grimly; “not a word; but I reckon he’ll have it out now with that--that little hussy up-stairs!” Daniel made no reply to this, and Mr. Carter padded softly away. Presently a door shut heavily, and then Daniel heard Emily going to her room. She was crying audibly. It seemed to the listener that she sobbed loudest just outside Fanchon’s door. Daniel sat quite still. A great weariness had come over him. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, and the fast and the nervous strain had told. He sank back in his chair and almost ceased thinking, his eyes closed. He was falling asleep from sheer exhaustion when he was startled by a new arrival. The door from the kitchen opened, and Miranda appeared, bearing a tray laden with viands and a smoking cup of tea. She set it down on the corner of the table. “Yo’ ain’t had noffin’, Mist’ Dan,” she said tearfully. “I knows! Plato, he been down heah to ask fo’ you-all, an’ he tole me yo’ left without yo’ dinner.” Daniel looked up into the sympathetic dark face and smiled. “You’re very kind, Miranda. I am hungry; I believe that’s why I nearly fell asleep.” “Yessuh, I allus eats when I feels bad. Ain’t noffin’ like it, Mist’ Dan. When my pa died I ate piece ob bacon an’ two cabbages, I sho’ did. I reckon dat’s all dat kep’ me from dyin’ of grief. I sho’ did feel po’erful bad!” Daniel drew up a chair. “I’ll take your prescription, Miranda,” he said gratefully. Miranda beamed tearfully. “Dat’s right, Mist’ Dan! Dere ain’t any cabbage dere, but dere’s sparrowgrass--an’ dat’s mos’ as good!” XIX DANIEL was up the next morning at six o’clock and had breakfasted before the other members of the distracted family appeared. The only one he saw was his brother. William had stopped his weary tramp on the piazza at daybreak, and, coming into the library, had thrown himself on the lounge. He lay there when Daniel came down, sleeping the heavy sleep of physical exhaustion. One arm trailed limply toward the floor, the other was thrown across his haggard face, hiding it from view. Daniel stopped a moment and stood looking at him, touched with pity. He remembered him as he had brought his bride up from the station-gates that first night, so confident in his happiness. It seemed so long ago! The brothers had been very sympathetic as boys, though Daniel’s accident and his subsequent illness, delaying his college course and putting everything out of joint, had rather separated them.