"Poor Uncle Ike, I wish I could do more for him, he has done so much for me. He paid for my lessons in bookkeeping and music, and also for my board until I had finished my studies and obtained a position. He has been a father to me since my own dear father died."

Quincy felt some inclination to find out the real reason why Uncle Ike had left his family, but he repressed it and called attention to some trees, heavily coated with snow and ice, which looked beautiful in the sunshine, and he described them so graphically, bringing in allusions to pearls and diamonds and strings of glistening jewels, that Alice clapped her hands in delight and said she would take him as her literary partner, to write in the descriptive pa.s.sages. Quincy for an instant felt impelled to take advantage of the situation, but saying to himself, "The time is not yet," he touched the horse with his whip and for half a minute was obliged to give it his undivided attention.

"Did you think the horse was running away?" said he to Alice, when he had brought him down to a trot. "Were you afraid?"

"I am afraid of nothing nowadays," she replied. "I trust my companions implicitly, knowing that they will tell me if I am in danger and advise me what to do. I had a debate a long time ago with Uncle Ike about blind people and deaf people. He said he would rather be stone deaf than blind. As he argued it, the deaf person could read and write and get along very comfortably by himself. I argued on the other side. I wish to hear the voices of my friends when they talk and sing and read, and then, you know, everybody lends a helping hand to a person who is blind, but the deaf person must look out for himself."

"Either state is to be regretted, if there is no hope of relief,"

remarked Quincy. He thought he would refer to Dr. Tillotson, but they were approaching the centre of the town, and he knew he would not have time to explain his action before he reached the post office, so he determined to postpone it until they were on the way home.

There were three letters for himself, two for Alice and a lot of papers and magazines for Uncle Ike. He resumed his seat in the sleigh and they started on their journey homeward.

"Would you like to go back the same way that we came?" asked Quincy, "or shall we go by the upper road and come by Deacon Mason's?"

"I should like to stop and see Huldy," said Alice, and Quincy took the upper road.

Conversation lagged on the homeward trip. Alice held her two letters in her hand and looked at them several times, apparently trying to recognize the handwriting. As Quincy glanced at her sidewise, he felt sure that he saw tears in her eyes, and he decided that it would be an inappropriate time to announce the subject of the new doctor. In fact, he was beginning to think, the more his mind dwelt upon the subject, that he had taken an inexcusable liberty in arranging for Dr. Tillotson to come down without first speaking to her, or at least to her brother or uncle. But the deed was done, and he must find some way to have her see the doctor, and get his opinion about her eyes.

Quincy spent so much time revolving this matter in his mind, that he was quite astonished when he looked around and found himself at the exact place where he spoke those words to Huldy Mason that had ended in the accident. This time he gave careful attention to horse and hill and curve, and a moment later he drew up the sleigh at Deacon Mason's front gate.

Mrs. Mason welcomed them at the door and they were shown into the parlor, where Huldy sat at the piano. The young girls greeted each other warmly, and Mrs. Mason and Huldy both wished Quincy and Alice to stay to tea. They declined, saying they had many letters to read before supper and 'Zekiel would think something had happened to them if they did not come home.

"I will send Hiram down to let them know," said Mrs. Mason.

"You must really excuse us this time," protested Quincy. "Some other time perhaps Miss Pettengill will accept your hospitality."

"But when?" asked Mrs. Mason. "We might as well fix a time right now."

"Yes," said Huldy, "and we won't let them go till they promise."

"Well, my plan," said Mrs. Mason, "is this. Have 'Zekiel and Alice and Mr. Sawyer come over next Monday afternoon about five o'clock, and we will have tea at six, and we will have some music in the evening. I have so missed your singing, Mr. Sawyer, since you went away."

"Yes," said Huldy, "I think it is real mean of you, Alice, not to let him come and see us oftener."

Alice flushed and stammered, "I--I--I do not keep him from coming to see you. Why, yes, I have too," said she, as a thought flashed through her mind. "I will tell you the truth, Mrs. Mason. Mr. Sawyer offered to do some writing for me, and I have kept him very busy."

She stopped and Quincy continued:

"I did do a little writing for her, Mrs. Mason, during the great snowstorm, and it was as great a pleasure to me, as I hope it was a help to her, for I had nothing else to do."

"Well," said Mrs. Mason, "you can settle that matter between yer. All that Huldy and me wants to know is, will all three of you come and take tea with us next Monday night?"

"I shall be greatly pleased to do so," said Quincy.

"If 'Zekiel will come, I will," said Alice, and Quincy for an instant felt a slight touch of wounded feeling because Alice had ignored him entirely in accepting the invitation.

As they drove home, Alice said: "Mrs. Mason managed that nicely, didn't she? I didn't wish to appear too eager to come, for Huldy might have suspected."

"What mystery is this?" asked Quincy. "I really don't know what you are talking about."

"What!" said Alice. "Didn't 'Zekiel tell you about the surprise party that Mr. Strout was getting up, and that you, 'Zekiel, and I were not to be invited?"

"Oh! I see," said Quincy. "How stupid I have been! I knew all about it and that it was to be next Monday, but Mrs. Mason asked us so honestly to come to tea, and Huldy joined in so heartily, that for the time being I got things mixed, and besides, to speak frankly, Miss Pettengill, I was thinking of something else."

"And what was it?" asked Alice.

"Well," said Quincy, determined to break the ice, "I will tell you. I was wondering why you said you would come to tea if 'Zekiel would come."

"Oh!" said Alice, laughing. "You thought I was very ungenerous to leave you out of the question entirely."

"Honestly I did think so," remarked Quincy.

"Well, now," said Alice, "I did it from the most generous of motives. I thought you knew about the surprise party as well as I did. I knew 'Zekiel would go with me and I thought that perhaps you had some other young lady in view for your companion."

"What?" asked Quincy. "Whom could I have had in view?"

"Shall I tell you whom I think?" asked Alice.

"I wish you would," Quincy replied.

"Well," said Alice, "I thought it might be Lindy Putnam."

Quincy bit his lip and gave the reins a savage jerk, as he turned up the short road that led to the Pettengill house. "What could make you think that, Miss Pettengill?"

"Well, I have only one reason to give," Alice replied, "for that opinion, but the fact is, when we made our call on Mrs. Putnam she pounded on the floor three times with her crutch before you came upstairs. Am I justified, Mr. Sawyer?"

"I'm afraid you are," said Quincy. "I should have thought so myself if I had been in your place."

But when he reached his room he threw his letters on the table, his coat and hat on the bed, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, he walked rapidly up and down the room, saying to himself in a savage whisper, "Confound that Putnam girl; she is a hoodoo."

Quincy was philosophical, and his excited feelings soon quieted down. It would come out all right in the end. Alice would find that he had not intended to take Miss Putnam to the surprise party. He could not betray Lindy's confidence just at that time, even to justify himself. He must wait until Mrs. Putnam died. It might be years from now before the time came to destroy that letter, and he could not, until then, disclose to Alice the secret that Lindy had confided to him. Yes, it would come out all right in the end, for it might be if Alice thought he was in love with Lindy that she would give more thought to him. He had read somewhere that oftentimes the best way to awaken a dormant love was to appear to fall in love with some one else.

Somewhat reconciled to the situation by his thoughts, he sat down to read his letters. The first one that he took up was from the confectioner. It informed him that his order would receive prompt attention, and the writer thanked him for past favors and solicited a continuance of the same. The second was from Ernst. It was short and to the point, and written in his characteristic style. It said:

"Dear Quincy:--Pseudonym received. Bruce Douglas is a name to conjure with. It smacks of 'Auld Lang Syne.' The Scotch are the only people on the face of the earth who were never conquered. You will remember, if you haven't forgotten your ancient history, that the Roman general sent back word to his emperor that the d----d country wasn't worth conquering.

Enclosures also at hand. The shorter ones are more songs than poems. I will turn them over to a music publisher, who is a friend of mine. Will report his decision later.

"I gave the long poem to Francis Lippitt, the well-known composer, and he is delighted with it and wishes to set it to music. He is great on grand choruses, Bach fugues, and such like. If he sets it to music he will have it sung by the Handel and Haydn Society, for he is a great gun among them just now. The eight stories have reached New York by this time, and Jameson is reading 'Her Native Land.'

"With best regards to Mr. Bruce Douglas and yourself.

LEOPOLD ERNST.

The third letter was from the Adjutant-General's office, and Quincy smiled as he finished the first sheet, folded it up and replaced it in the envelope. As he read the second the smile left his face. "Who would have thought it?" he said to himself. "Well, after all, heroes are made out of strange material. He is the man for my money and I'll back him up, and beat that braggart."

On the following Sunday, after dinner, Quincy had a chat with Uncle Ike.

He took the opportunity of asking the old gentleman if he was fully satisfied with the progress towards recovery that his niece was making.