Again Miss Lee tatted industriously. Then she looked up with what she tried to make a most friendly smile.

"Now you know, Miss Doane, I _never_ gossip, but I am a friend of yours and I think you ought to be told. The neighbors think it queer that you have this man live here, who is no relative of yours."

"How's it queer?"

"Well, it's unconventional, to say the least."

"What do you mean by unconventional?"

"I don't know how I can say it so that you will understand. Not quite proper, you know."

Drusilla sat back in her chair. A bright spot appeared on her faded cheek and there was an ominous light in her eyes.

"So my neighbors think I'm improper! Well, that's news and I'm glad to hear it. I've always wanted to do something unconventional, as you call it, but I ain't never had no chance. I always had to do what was expected of me. I had to live a life just about as broad as a needle, just because I had to make my livin' and couldn't afford to do nothin' that'd be different from what other folks done. But now I got a chance, and I'm glad I ain't too old yet to shock my neighbors. I'd keep John now if I had to tie him in his chair."

Miss Lee saw the light in the eyes, and hastened to say:

"Now, please, dear Miss Doane, don't think that I am blaming you. I understand perfectly--_perfectly_. I just feel that you ought to know what is being said."

"You're real kind, Miss Lee. People won't miss what's bein' said about 'em if you don't git paralyzed in your tongue."

Miss Lee flushed and gathered her threads together.

"Well, my intentions are always of the best, I a.s.sure you. I must be going. I see my maid talking to one of your gardeners. It must be stopped."

"Yes, I'd stop it if I was you. She might be enjoyin' herself.

Good-by. And when you stop at your next place, tell 'em that I'm waitin' for that Committee, and that I'm enjoyin' John Brierly's visit, and that he's goin' to live here, and so's my babies, and that they don't need to know what's goin' on in my grounds if they don't stretch their necks to see over the walls when they ride by. Good-by."

Drusilla watched the woman as she went down the road and as she disappeared she heaved a sigh.

"Well, the Lord sendeth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed--I guess I'll go see John."

She went up to the small library where she knew she would find him poring over a book.

John looked up as she entered the room, and Drusilla sat down in a chair and looked into the fire, as if seeing pictures there. John went on with his reading, but finally, seeing Drusilla looking at him intently, he spoke.

"What is it, Drusilla?"

Drusilla said softly: "John, do you remember when we used to walk down Willow Lane in the moonlight, and one night some of the neighbors saw your arm around me and they went to mother and said we was carryin' on and it ought to be put a stop to? Well, the neighbors say we are carryin' on again."

John closed the book in his hand.

"What do you mean, Drusilla?"

"The neighbors say we are carryin' on. They think that because you ain't a relation that's it's unconventional, them's her words, unconventional that you stay here."

A pained look came into kindly John's eyes.

"Why, Drusilla, I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps I'd better go."

Drusilla reached over and patted his hand.

"Just you set right still, John Brierly, and don't get excited. I ain't felt so young sence mother scolded me for walkin' out with you." She laughed a little happy laugh. "Why, it takes me back fifty years!"

"Oh, Drusilla," murmured John. "If it makes you talked about--"

"Makes me talked about! Why, who'd 'a' thought when Mis' Fisher come to mother when we was young and said that our carryin's on was disgraceful, that in fifty years another Mis' Fisher-kind would say the same thing. Oh, John, why don't you laugh?"

"I don't see anything to laugh about, Drusilla."

"You never had a sense of humor, John; but you was born without it.

But, I tell you, it makes me young again. Why, it makes a woman old to feel she can do just as she pleases and not git talked about; and I feel I ain't got one foot in the grave to know that I can still be carryin' on--Oh, I guess, I'll go and put on my new dress that's just come home. I ain't seventy--I'm still a girl!"

And, chuckling to herself, she went out of the room, followed by John's wondering eyes. He sat quietly a moment, then went back to his book, feeling that woman's reasoning was far beyond his ken.

That night, as she and John were sitting down to their seven o'clock dinner, a frightened nurse came running in.

"Oh, Miss Doane," she said, "one of the babies is very sick. He don't seem able to breathe."

Drusilla put down her napkin and started immediately for the nursery, where she found one of the younger babies struggling for its breath, evidently in the earlier stages of pneumonia. She looked at it a moment, then said:

"Now you git one of the babies' bathtubs filled with hot water and I'll be back in a minute. Have some one telephone for Dr. Eaton."

She hurried to her rooms and put on a big white ap.r.o.n, then to the linen closet and got a piece of white flannel, and was just starting for the nursery again, when a card was brought her. She read on it: _James Carrington_.

"He's part of the Committee," she said; and as she pa.s.sed through the hall she went up to him.

"You're Mr. Carrington," she began abruptly.

"I'm real glad to see you. I know what you come for, but I ain't got time to talk now. You come with me and we'll talk afterwards."

And before the chairman of the Committee could say a word he was hurried upstairs and into a small room, where a couple of frightened nurses were looking at a baby whose flushed face and labored breathing showed that he was very ill. Drusilla went to the small bathtub that was placed on the floor.

"Come here, Mr. Carrington," she said; "you're stronger than I am.

Lift this up on them two chairs. So--that's right. Now put this thermometer in the water and see if it's 100 degrees. I can't see to read it. Is it right? Now--we'll take the baby--take off your coat and hat--yes, you'd better take off that coat too"--seeing that the man was in evening dress--"and turn up your sleeves--you'll git your cuffs wet. Now take off the baby's clothes, Mary. So--poor little thing!--take 'em all off, shirt and all, and we'll put him in this piece of flannel. Now you hold him like this, Mr. Carrington. Hold him in the hot water. There--jest so's his face is out--don't let him slip! So--now he's breathin' better already. Don't let the water git cold, Mary. Put a little more hot water in--there--that's right. Yes, he's gittin' red, Mr. Carrington, but he wants to git red. See, he's breathin' better. Does your arm ache? Hold him a little longer; I'm goin' to git some goose grease that I brought along with me from the home. I'll be back in a minute. Don't let the water git cool."

She returned in a few moments with a bottle in her hand, and handed it to one of the nurses.

"Warm it, put it in hot water till it runs. Now--"

Just then the door opened and a woman stood in the doorway, an angry look on her pretty, petulant face. She was covered with a big white evening wrap, and was most impatient. She looked at the scene before her without comprehending it, and her voice said angrily:

"Robert, we will be late for the opera! What do you mean by--"

Drusilla looked from the baby to the woman in the doorway.

"Come right in, Mis' Carrington. I'm glad you come. Take off your coat. Yes, we need you. Lay it over there on the bed."

And before the astonished woman knew what she was doing her wrap was laid upon a small white bed and she was standing in her elaborate evening gown looking down at a very red baby being held in a hot bath by the hands of her husband.