afraid of her the next--no, not exactly afraid of her, but afraid of his own thoughts. Something troubles him. I wonder what in the world it is! May be--"
"Well?" exclaimed Dorry, impatiently, at last.
"Well," repeated Don, in a different tone, "the fact is, it is trying for you, Dorry, and I can't make it out."
Meanwhile Lydia, down stairs, was working herself into what she called "a state" on this very matter. "It isn't Christian," she thought to herself, "though if ever a man was a true, good Christian, Mr. G. is; but he's amazin' odd. The fact is, he doesn't know his own mind in this business from one day to the next, and he thinks, Jack and I are stone blind--Mercy! If here don't come those precious children!"
Surely enough, the precious children were on their way down the kitchen stairs. They did not go into that cheerful, well-scrubbed apartment, however, but trudged directly into the adjoining room, in which Liddy, guarded by the faithful old dog, Nero, was now sea