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Westmore must feel this; must feel it all the more keenly, coming from an atmosphere so different, from a life where, as he instinctively divined, all was in harmony with her own graceful person. But a deep disappointment awaited him.
"My leg! My leg!" moaned the child. "Ah, I feared so," exclaimed Mr. Westmore, after a brief examination. "We must have the doctor at once. Is there anyone near who will go for him, Mrs. Stickles?" "Not a man, sir, that's fit to go. They're all in the woods. Oh, what kin we do!" "Don't worry, Mrs. Stickles," was the reassuring reply. "Midnight will go, and I will hold the reins.
Instantly four little hands shot up into the air, and four pairs of sparkling eyes were fixed eagerly upon the coveted treasure. "Well, Bennie, we'll try you," said the parson. "Stand up straight, and don't be afraid to speak out." "Advent tells us Christ is here, Christmas tells us Christ is near " "Hold, hold!" cried Mr. Westmore. "Try again."
The bricks must have been loose somewhere, which allowed the flames to pour through into the dry woodwork overhead, which was soon converted into a blazing mass. Seeing that nothing could be done to save the building Mr. Westmore was forced to carry Billy, sick though he was, out of the house.
There was another pause, during which Bessy glanced tentatively at Mr. Tredegar, and then said, with a lovely rise of colour: "But, John, I sometimes think you forget how much has been done at Westmore the Mothers' Club, and the play-ground, and all in the way of carrying out your ideas." Mr. Tredegar discreetly dropped his glance to his cigar, and Mr.
"What was Uncle Bisco's dream?" asked Mrs. Westmore. "Why, he said an angel had brought him water to drink from a Castellonian Spring. Now, I don't know what a Castellonian Spring is, but that was the word he used, and that he was turned into a live-oak tree, old and moss-grown.
Westmore at this moment was enough to awe even the most careless. His gigantic form was drawn to its fullest height. His flashing eyes, turned full upon Pete's face, caused that obsequious menial to fall back a step or two. Even a blow from the parson's clenched fist just then would not have been a surprise.
Her first husband poor unappreciated Westmore! had always spared her the boredom of "business," and Halford Gaines and Mr. Tredegar were ready to show her the same consideration; it was part of the modern code of chivalry that lovely woman should not be bothered about ways and means.
Her courage almost failed as she knocked upon the door, and waited for it to be opened. It was Mrs. Farrington who came, and great was her astonishment when she found who was there. "Why, it's Nellie Westmore, I do declare!" she exclaimed. "Come right in, dear, and lay your wraps aside. I'm so glad to see ye. But how in the world did ye git here?"
"The owner of the mills young Richard Westmore died last winter," he went on, "and my hope it's no more is that the new broom may sweep a little cleaner." "Who is the new broom?" "Westmore left everything to his widow, and she is coming here to-morrow to look into the management of the mills." "Coming? She doesn't live here, then?" "At Hanaford? Heaven forbid!
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