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"Aha, missy," said she, in deep, guttural tones, "you tink ob dat yaller-ha'r'd man!" "Your mind seems to run on the mother, David," said Jen, looking again at Sarby with keen inquisitiveness. "Can you prove by any chance that she committed the crime?" "Everything goes so smoothly," she confided to Miss Jinny one day at the end of the fortnight. "It sounds monotonous, but I don't mean it that way at all. We're all so naturally polite and agreeable. We don't seem to have to force ourselves a bit.".

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"But what are you talking of?" broke in Jen, impetuously. "You say that my poor boy died from blood-poisoning. How else could he have come by that, save through being touched or struck with the devil-stick? No one in the neighborhood was likely to possess any weapon likely to corrupt the blood. If Maurice had been stabbed, or shot, or if his head had been smashed in, I could understand the crime--or rather the motive for the crime--better; but as it is, the person who stole the devil-stick must have killed him." "I'm not so sure of that," retorted Maurice; "I love Isabella, and come what may I intend to make her my wife." "I know it," said Elinor, sinking wearily into a chair. "I've tried to keep up with you all at home here, and do my work, too, but it hasn't worked. I believe I'll stay home today and take a real holiday." "True, doctor," remarked Jen, keeping his eyes fixed upon the swart face of the other, "and is that all you have to say?".