"Jimps, I don't know what I should have done without it--or you." "Thanks; I think so myself. The first winter back in the little old town, after the years away at school and college--well---- Anyhow, I pride myself the partnership has worked pretty well. We've been about as good chums as you could ask, haven't we now?" "About as good." "All right." His tone had a decided ring of satisfaction in it, but he did not pursue the subject further. Instead he changed it abruptly: "How does the new boarder come on?" "Very well. We really don't mind having him at all, he's so quiet, and Father enjoys his table talk." "Father does, but daughter doesn't?" "Oh, yes, I do--only he doesn't talk much to me. I sit and listen to their discussions--and jump up to wait on them so often that I sometimes lose the thread." "The duffer! Why doesn't he get up and wait on you?" Georgiana laughed. "Jimps, we're going to have another guest." "Another man?" The question came quickly. "Not at all. A girl--my cousin, Jeannette Crofton. At least I'm writing to ask her for the fortnight before Easter." "Those rich Crofton relations of yours who hold their heads so high for no particular reason except that it helps them to forget their feet are on the earth?" "James Stuart, what have I ever said of them to make you speak like that?" "Never mind; go on. Is it the girl whose picture gets into the Sunday papers--entirely against her will, of course--as the daughter of Thomas Crofton? She's reported engaged, from time to time, and then the report is denied. She's----" "I shall tell you no more about her," said Georgiana Warne, with her head held quite as high as if she belonged to that branch of the family to whom James Stuart had so irreverently alluded. "All right. I'm not interested in her anyhow, and you'll want your breath for the run down. Come on, George; one more spurt and we're up.... All ready. Take hold of my hand. Come on!" In the March starlight the two ran hand in hand down the long, steep Harmon Hill which led from the east into the little town. Stuart's grip was tight, or more than once Georgiana would have slipped on the rough iciness of the descent. But she did not falter at the rush of it, and she was not panting, only breathing quickly, when they came to a standstill upon the level. "Good lungs, those of yours, George," commented Stuart, in the frank manner in which he might have said it to a younger brother. "You haven't played basket ball and rowed in your 'Varsity boat for nothing. Sure you're not letting up a bit on all that training, now that you're back, baking beans for boarders?" "And sweeping their rooms, and carrying up wood for their fires, and----" "What? Do you mean to say that literary light allows you to tote wood for him?" They were walking on rapidly now. "I'll be over in the morning and take up a pile that'll leave no room for him to put his feet. What's he thinking of?"