"Steady, my girl. Perhaps you haven't the facts, and you can't think right till you have, you know."

"He promised he wouldn't talk to Uncle Calvin about me."

"Perhaps he hasn't. You didn't think I was Judge Trent in disguise, did you?"

"Did he only talk to _you_? Truly, did he?"

"So far as I know. Your uncle telegraphed for me to come to the office, and I reached there this morning. I suppose Mr. Dunham hadn't promised not to talk about you to anybody on earth, had he? Your Cousin Jacob is harmless."

Sylvia looked into the small eyes so luminous with kindness.

"But it was Uncle--Judge Trent who sent for you?"

"Yes, I think he'd somehow got the idea that you didn't care about seeing him."

"They've been cruel to me. Aunt Martha was--Oh, I mustn't, I can't speak of it!" The girl's lips pressed together after the vehement burst.

"Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth," said Cousin Jacob. The quotation from his lips became a remark. His companion looked at him in surprise. "I've an idea you're some ways off the inheritance, Sylvia."

"There's a difference between meekness and servility, I hope," she returned hotly.

"I hope so," agreed Jacob Johnson equably. "This matter's just like everything else, little girl. You haven't any call to do anything about it but just think right."

"Oh," murmured Sylvia impatiently.

"Yes, I know. It takes time, especially if you aren't in practice. That Mr. Dunham's an honest, manly chap?" He put it as a question.

"Yes, indeed."

"There, then." The visitor nodded. "So far, so good. He told me where you were."

"And not Uncle Calvin?"

"No, he'd promised not to. A girl who thought she was high-strung, excited, and mad, made him promise not to."

"Is that the way he described me?"

Cousin Jacob pointed an emphasizing finger. "She's thinking it again.

No, he didn't describe you in just those words. Well, Judge Trent and Miss Lacey took this business a good deal to heart, after all; and they sent for me to tell me about things; and as long as Mr. Dunham told me where you were, I thought I'd take a run to Boston. I'd go many a mile further to see Laura's child."

"I wish she had told me about you instead of wasting time making me kiss Uncle Calvin's picture good-night." The scornful tone brought another smile to her companion's lips.

"Your Uncle Calvin has made his mark," he said.

"A black and blue one, I'll warrant," retorted Sylvia.

Jacob Johnson shook his head gravely. "He's made his mark, and your Cousin Jacob is only a farmer."

Sylvia's lips had nearly formed the words, "I thought so." Her eyes dropped involuntarily to the limp bag.

"I was wondering what you were intending to do here in Boston, little girl?"

"I can't stay in Boston," she returned, and her lip quivered. "Just think, Cousin Jacob, I'm spending Uncle Calvin's money when I hate him!

Isn't it awful?"

"It is," returned the other, with conviction. "Hating folks is the very worst business anybody can invest in."

"I didn't mean that. Isn't it awful to be obliged to him? You don't know. You don't understand."

"Yes, I do," the speaker nodded. "I know the whole thing from A to izzard. Well, how do you expect to leave Boston, and what will you do?"

"Go on the stage."

"Oh, I guess not, little one. How old are you? You look fifteen, but you're more. I remember when you were born, and how I envied Sam."

"I'm nineteen."

"If you were going on the stage, it would have been well to be thinking of it even sooner. Have you had any experience?"

"No, except knowing an actor."

"And you're counting on his help?"

"Yes. I think I'd better marry him."

Jacob Johnson looked at her in silence. "You love him?" he asked at last.

"A--pretty well."

Her companion shook his head, smilingly. "Is he famous?"

"No. He says his chance has never really come."

"Young?"

"Oh, no."

Cousin Jacob threw back his head. "What a way out of trouble: to many an actor of that sort whom you love pretty well! You are very good to look at, Sylvia, my child, and any chance you could get on the stage would come from that. Bad business, hard business, dangerous business.

Anyway, you're not strong yet. I have a proposal to make you. Come up with me to the farm for a while and drink milk."

"Why, Cousin Jacob!" Sylvia's cheeks had grown very white, and now a little color stole back into them. "Oh, you're kind!"

"Well, then, if you think so, come!"

"When?" Sylvia already had a sick dread of the little room upstairs and its thoughts.

"Now."