spent itself. Then he tossed his pack into a fence corner and
kept on toward the house.




CHAPTER XXII

AT THE CHURCH DOOR


There was the patter of small feet beyond Betty's door, and
little Steve, who looked more like a nice fat black Cupid than
anything else, rapped softly; at the same time he effected to
squint through the keyhole.

"Supper served, Missy," he announced, then he turned no less than
seven handsprings in the upper hall and slid down the balustrade
to the floor below. He was far from being a model house servant.

His descent was witnessed by the butler. Now in his own youth
big Steve with as fair a field had cut similar capers, yet he was
impelled by his sense of duty to do for his grandson what his own
father had so often done for him, and in no perfunctory manner.
It was only the sound of Betty's door opening and closing that
stayed his hand as he was making choice of a soft and vulnerable
spot to which he should apply it. Little Steve slid under the
outstretched arm that menaced him and fled to the dining-room.

Betty came slowly down the stairs. Four hours since Jeff had