"Sho'!" murmured Andrew. "Sho' to be sure." Then he wandered back to that past which held Starr.

"The last time I saw the parson was that-er-day when he went a riding off to the Gulch to help ole Miss Lanley out o' life. He had lil' Miss Queenie long o' him--she was the Walden girl as _was_."

Marcia Lowe sat up straighter and again gripped the wandering, wrinkled hands. Her uncle's letter came vividly to mind and she felt suddenly that she was being led by old Townley back to clear vision.

"Go on!" she whispered soothingly, seeking not to confuse the rambling wits. "Just where was old Miss Lanley's place?"

Andrew laughed foolishly.

"Lanley!" he pattered on. "Susie May Lanley! I reckon she was a right putty one in her day. I uster set and watch her and say this-er-way: 'plenty o' them! I'm going to get one!' meaning to make her jealous long o' gals, but she never took no heed--but Landy! she died forsaken and lone, and times is when I think she would have been a mighty sight better off if she had took me!"

Townley's long reminiscence had tired him woefully and he began to cry pitifully, swaying to and fro and repeating:

"She done died forsaken and lone!"

Then he fell asleep, his white head on Marcia Lowe's shoulder, the full radiance of the late sun flooding over them through the western window.

For a half hour he slept and when he awakened he seemed hopelessly addled. Muttering and groping, hardly seeming to notice his companion, he made his way out of the church.

"Old Miss Susie May Lanley!" the little doctor repeated over and over.

"I must hold to that until I get it on paper. I guess Uncle Theodore was married by some one living near old Miss Susie May Lanley's!"

Just as Marcia Lowe was leaving the church, Cynthia came running down the trail. She was smiling and calm.

"I came back," she said confidingly, "to tell you something. I've worked it out myself."

"Yes, dear;" the girl's face struck Marcia strangely. A new expression rested upon it.

"I'm--not--going--to suffer any more."

"Why, little Cyn?"

"No. No more! It hurts and hurts and then you get over it, and go on just the same. I'm not going to suffer!"

Miss Lowe went close and took the pretty face in her hands.

"See here, little girl, if suffering is a teacher it is not such a cruel thing; be a good learner."

"No. Last night in the blackness and fear something happened--here!"

The girl put her hand over her heart. "But now with the sun shining over Lost Mountain, it's all so right safe and still and happy that I'm sorry for the hurt of last night. No, I am not going to suffer. I'm going to be just lil' Cyn again. I thought you would like to know."

"Oh, dear," and then Marcia laughed. "You-all make me want to cry so easily! I am glad, dear. Surely I do not _want_ any one to suffer; but see here, will you come to me every day, Cynthia? I want to teach you some necessary things. Things like--well--book things! Things that Sandy just loved."

"I reckon I will, Cup-o'-Cold-Water Lady!"

Then she was gone as she had come. Crothers' touch had only alarmed her; it had not soiled her.

"Thank God!" murmured the little doctor; "the woman in the child shielded her from all but physical shock! And what a quaint philosophy for a girl to evolve."

That evening as Marcia Lowe stood before her little mirror in the lean-to, braiding her long smooth hair, she talked a bit for comfort's sake.

"It's plain luxury to lie in my own bed again," she said, "the bench in the other room can never be made anything but a martyr's cot." Then she glanced up and faced her own smiling image with the braids twisted about the head.

"Oh!" she faltered, falling back, "oh! Uncle Theodore!" For there, smiling at her with the slow, lingering smile, the face of Cynthia seemed to shine out by the flickering candlelight, instead of her own!

The long dressing-gown gave a childish setting to the little doctor's form, the coronet braids; the happy, smiling face was young and wonderfully, strikingly like Cynthia's.

"They always said I was so like Uncle Theodore! I've got Cynthia to her father by way of--me!"

Then the Cup-o'-Cold-Water Lady did a most unaccountable thing--she fairly pranced about the room.

"I've found it!" she sang; "without resurrecting old Miss Susie May Lanley! What's a stupid marriage certificate compared to God's plain handwriting? I can keep my secret now, Uncle Theodore, until the right time. It was so good of you, dear, to give me proof."

CHAPTER XV

Seven years passed, leaving their traces, and upon a certain afternoon in August Levi Markham and Matilda sat on the piazza of the Bretherton home and awaited the arrival of Mrs. Olive Treadwell.

Old Bob, Sandy's collie, lay at Levi's feet. Bob was fat and full of years; he wore a heavily studded collar with perfect dignity and had, apparently, quite forgotten lean days and promiscuous kicks. Levi could now shuffle his feet with impunity. Bob never suspected ulterior motives and the sight of a broom or club had lost all terrors for him.

Markham did not look any older than he looked seven years ago. Indeed, his interest in Sandy Morley, his pride in that young man's achievement, and Sandy's absolute love and loyalty to his benefactor, had done much to relieve Markham of years instead of adding them to him. Matilda had not fared so well. She looked like fragile ware, but she never complained and with quiet courage she went her westering way thankfully.

"Levi is wonderfully softened," she often thought; "it doesn't hurt him so much these days to praise instead of blame, and naturally folks respond. It's mostly on account of Sandy. Levi does so mortally hate to lose that when he wins out he thaws out!"

The broad acres of Bretherton were rich and full of harvest as the old brother and sister waited that afternoon. At last Levi snapped his watch cover and said sharply:

"That three-fifty train is always late! Do you suppose--she--Mrs.

Treadwell, will expect to be put up for the night?"

"I hope not," Matilda replied, knitting away gently with closed eyes.

"I'm not one who takes pleasure in folks' disappointments and I'm glad to say the village inn is comfortable and not over crowded. I _can_, if it is necessary, tell Mary Jane to put an extra plate on for the evening meal."

"Wait and see how things turn out," cautiously advised Levi.

"What time is it now, brother?"

"Two-forty-five! But I put no faith in that train."

"Was that a letter from Sandy you got in the noon mail?"

"It was, Matilda. I think it would be safe to have an extra plate put on for him."

Matilda opened her eyes.

"Levi," she said; "I'm not one to nose about much, but what is the meaning of all this?"

Levi set his lips grimly.