awry. Miss Miranda doesn't pretend that this big garden and these ducks and hens are here for her own pleasure, she owns that she must have the money that she makes by them, but it's my belief that not even you and I know how much she needs it."
His damp pipe, rebellious at last, refused to be rekindled, which delayed him for a long minute.
"She has cut herself off from most of her old friends," he went on, when he was once more puffing vigorously, "for fear they might be asking questions or offering help in a way that would hurt her. She is too proud to endure either. But—" he raised his little gray eyes and looked at Betsey keenly, "but you're of a different sort, the sort that she does not fear and that can be a true friend to her none the less. She is fond of you, I've seen that in these days you have worked with her in the garden. Be good to her, Miss Betsey, and stay near to her. Find out her trouble if you can and help her. For it's as true as that there are Saints in Heaven, it's help she needs."
He got up as though all that he had been saying had led up to this and now he had finished.
"But—" gasped Betsey, "but, please tell me first—"
His square jaw shut so firmly that she knew there was no use in going on. The strange mood of flu-
