his father before him."

"Father had queer friends," observed Cynthia sadly. "I remember
his telling me when I was a little girl that he preferred that
family to any in the county."

"Oh, the family was all right, my dear. I never heard a breath
against the women. Now you may fetch Jacob. Is that his name?"

"No; Jim."

"Dear me; that's very odd. He certainly should have been called
after his father. I wonder how they could have been so
thoughtless."

Cynthia drew forward an armchair, stooped and carefully arranged
the ottoman, and then went with stern determination to look for
Jim Weatherby.

He was sitting in the stable doorway, fitting a shoe on the old
mare, while Lila leaned against an overturned barrel in the
sunshine outside. At Cynthia's sudden appearance they both
started and looked up in amazement, the words dying slowly on
their lips.

"Why, whatever is the matter, Cynthia?" cried Lila, as if in
terror.

Cynthia came forward until she stood directly at the mare's head,
where she delivered her message with a gasp: