The doctor’s daughter shook a stubborn head. Here in this room which pale Effie would have adored, facing a youth from the world she worshiped, Glen would be true to Glenwood Darrow’s creed. She faced him steadily. “My father is dead, but he taught me to be a good hater.” “And I am alive,” said Peter Parker, “and I shall teach you to be a good lover.” There was a little pause, delicate as a bubble; a breath would break it, and the three of them, the boy and the girl and the sick child, seemed hardly to breath. Then there was a shattering; a heavy step on the porch and a sharp knock at the door, and the door’s opening. “Super!” gasped Glory, hiding her face against Peter’s neck. “’Evening, Manders!” Peter was briskly pleasant. “Want to see me?” At his curt and scowling negative Glen spoke quickly. “Mr. Parker came to see Glory, Luke. Will you--won’t you sit down?” “No. I want to see you. Get your hat; we’ll walk.” His short sentences had the value of pistol shots in the quiet, charming room. “I’ll wait outside.” He went out onto the veranda, closing the door loudly after him, and Glen ran upstairs and came down again immediately, pulling on a sweater. “Miss Ada will come for you in a few minutes, Glory,” she told the child, and to Peter Parker she said a very low “Good night!” After the sound of the retreating footsteps had died away Gloriana-Virginia put up a small yellow claw and touched his face. “’Scuse me, suh, yo’ all better put me down! I’m right heavy. Oh--have yo’ got a mis’ry somewhar?” He sat down in the Tenafee chair and established her upon his lap. “Yes, Glory, I’ve got a misery, somewhere, but it isn’t going to last!” “Oh ... I’m right glad, suh....” she sagged suddenly. “Glory! What’s the matter? Don’t you----” “Hit’s all right, suh!” She grinned wanly at him. “Don’t yo’ go fo’ to fret. Hit’s jes’ that I’m so tired ... seems like my bones is all soft ... they won’t hold me up no mo’....” “I expect you’d better go back to bed,” suggested her caller uneasily. “Shall I carry you up?” “Oh, not just yet, suh--please--_pretty_ please! Hit’s so nice and mannerly here in this sweet-pretty room.... Oh, thar’s Gran-pappy! Hyar him a’-playing his tune?” There was the shuffle of old feet on the veranda, and the faint wheeze of the accordion. “_There ... is ... a ... hap ... peeee ... land._” “Shall I ask him in?” “Oh, no, suh--he’s jes’ pintly too skeered to come in, and M’liss’ she’ll be sho’ mad at him, but he knows music is my delight....” Mr. Peter Parker looked at the clock which Janice Jennings had contributed to the completion of the room. “Five minutes more,” he announced, “and then I’ll carry you up. Are you warm enough?” “Oh, yes, suh....” “Then, what makes your hands feel so cold?” he fretted.