“Well, boy,” he added, “I must be off. I want to see Taxater and Clavering and both the Andersens tonight. I might see Quincunx too. Not that I think _he_ can do very much.” “There’s only one way you’ll get James Andersen to help you,” remarked Philip, “and I doubt whether you’ll bring yourself to use that.” “I suppose you mean,” returned his father, “that Traffio girl, up at the House. I have heard that they have been seen together. But I thought she was going to marry John Goring.” “No, I don’t mean her,” said the son. “She’s all right. She’s a fine girl, and I am sorry for her, whether she marries Goring or not. The person I mean is little Ninsy Lintot, up at Wild Pine. She’s the only one in this place who can get a civil word out of Jim Andersen.” “Ninsy?” echoed his father, “but I thought Ninsy was dead and buried. There was some one died up at Wild Pine last spring, and I made sure ’twas her.” “That was her sister Glory,” affirmed Philip. “But Ninsy is delicate, too. A bad heart, they say--too bad for any thoughts of marrying. But she and Jim Andersen have been what you might call sweethearts ever since she was in short frocks.” “I have never heard of this,” said Mr. Wone. “Nor have many other people here,” returned Philip, “but ’tis true, none the less. And anyone who wants to get at friend James must go to him through Ninsy Lintot.” “I am extremely surprised at what you tell me,” said Mr. Wone. “Do you really mean that if I got this sick child to promise me Andersen’s help, he really would give it?” “Certainly I do,” replied Philip. “And what is more, he would bring his brother with him.” “But his brother is thick with Miss Romer. All the village is talking about them.” “Never mind the village--father! You think too much of the village and its talk. I tell you--Miss Romer or no Miss Romer--if you get James to help you, you get Luke. I know something of the ways of those two.” A look of foxy cunning crossed the countenance of the Christian Candidate. “Do _you_ happen to have any influence with this poor Ninsy?” he asked abruptly, peering into his son’s face. Philip’s pale cheeks betrayed no embarrassment. “I know her,” he said. “I like her. I lend her books. She will die before Christmas.” “I wish you would go up and see her for me then,” said Mr. Wone eagerly. “It would be an excellent thing if we _could_ secure the Andersens. They must have a lot of influence with the men they work with.” Philip glanced across the rich sloping meadows which led up to the base of the wooded ridge. From where they stood he could see the gloomy clump of firs and beeches which surrounded the little group of cottages known as Wild Pine.