"Go on."

"Why did you think I was--'looney'?"

The frank Miss Robinson bent her head over the baby.

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because you WERE looney."

"Oh!"

"But--"

"Yes--"

"You'll get over it."

And under the shallow pretext of getting the baby's food, she
retired to the kitchen, where Mr. North had the supreme
satisfaction of seeing her, as he passed the window, sitting on a
chair with her apron over her head, shaking with laughter.

For the next two or three days he did not visit the Robinsons, but
gave himself up to past memories. On the third day he had--it must
be confessed not without some effort--brought himself into that
condition of patient sorrow which had been his habit. The episode
of the storm and the finding of the baby began to fade, as had