"OH, NO, SIR," REPLIED ZEPHANIA, WITH A SHOCKED, PITYING EXPRESSION
"Oh, yes, sir! Everything's just covered with dust. I never did see such a dirty house. Houses do get that way, though, if they're shut up for a long time. Maybe I'd just better begin at the top and work down?"
"That seems sensible," said Wade. "You could just sort of sweep the dirt down the front stairs and right out of the front door, couldn't you?"
"Oh, no, sir," replied Zephania, with a shocked, pitying expression. "I'd never do that. I'd clean each room separately, sir; sweep and wash up the floors and around the mop-board and—"
"Whatever way you think best," interrupted Wade. "I leave it all to you, Zephania, and I'm sure it will be done beautifully."
"Thank you, sir. Mother says I'm a real smart cleaner. Shall I get some more flowers in this vase, sir? This piece of lilac's dreadfully wilted."
"No, Zephania, just let that remain, please. The fact, is, that—that's a rather particular piece of lilac; something out of the common."
"Out of the common?" echoed Zephania, in faint surprise, surveying as much of the common as she could see through the window. "You don't mean our common?"
"No," answered Wade, gravely, "not our common. That piece of lilac, Zephania, is a clue; at least, I think it is. Do you know what a clue is?"
"Yes, sir. It's something you find that puts you on the trail of the murderer." Zephania eyed the lilac interestedly.
"Well, something of that sort. Only in this case there isn't any murderer."
"A thief?" asked Zephania, eagerly and hopefully.
"Not even a thief," laughed Wade. "Just—just somebody I want very much to find. I suppose, Zephania, you know about every one in the village, don't you?"
"Pretty nearly, I guess."
"Good. Now suppose you tell me something about my neighbors. Every one ought to know about his neighbors, eh?"
"Yes, sir. After you've been here some time, though, you'll know all about them."
"Yes, but the trouble is I don't want to wait that long. Now, for instance, who lives over there on my left; the square white house with the drab blinds?"
"Miss Cousins, sir. She's a maiden lady and has a great deal of money. They say she owns some of the railroad. She plays the organ in church, and—"
"Youngish, is she, with sort of wavy brown hair and—"
"No, sir," Zephania tittered, "Miss Cousins is kind of old and has real gray hair."
"Really? On my other side, then, who's my neighbor there? Or haven't I one?"
"Oh, yes, sir," answered Zephania, eagerly. "That's the Walton house, and that's—"
"The—what?" asked Wade, sitting up very suddenly in the green rep rocker.
"The Walton house, sir."
"Oh! Hum! And—er—who lives there, Zephania?"
"Miss Walton and Miss Mullett."
"What's this Miss—Miss Walton like? Is she rather stout with quite black hair, Zephania?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Herring! I guess you saw Mrs. Sampson, the dressmaker. She lives over there across the common, in the little yellowish house with the vines; see?"
"Yes, yes, I see. That's where Miss Sampson lives, eh? Well, well! But we were speaking about Miss Walton, weren't we?"
"Yes, sir. Miss Walton's a young lady and as pretty as—as—" Zephania's words failed her and she looked about apparently in search of a simile.
"Now let's see what you call pretty," said Wade. "What color is her hair?"
"It's brown."
"Oh, well, brown hair isn't uncommon."
"No, sir, but hers is kind of wavy and light and I don't believe she ever has to curl it."
"You don't tell me! And her eyes, now? I suppose they're brown too?"
"Blue, sir. She has beautiful eyes, Mr. Herring, just heavenly! Sometimes I think I'd just give almost anything if my eyes were like hers."
"Really? But you seem to have a very good pair of your own. Don't trouble you, do they?"
"They're black," said Zephania, cheerfully. "Black eyes aren't pretty."
"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that," murmured Wade, politely.
"No, sir, but Miss Walton's are just as blue as—as the sky up there between those two little white clouds. She's awfully pretty, Mr. Herring."
"Complexion dark, I suppose."
"No, sir, not dark at all. It's real light. Some folks say she's too pale, but I don't think so. And sometimes she has just lots of pink in her cheeks, like—like a doll I have at home. Folks that think she's too pale ought to have seen her yesterday afternoon."
"Why is that?'"
"'Cause she was just pink all over," answered Zephania. "I took some eggs up to her house and just when I was coming out she came up on the porch. She looked like; she'd been running and her face was just as pink as—as that lamp-mat!"
The object in question was an excruciating magenta, but Wade let it pass.
"Yesterday was rather a warm day for running, too," observed Wade.
"Yes, sir, and I don't see what made her run, because she had been in the garden. Maybe a bee or a wasp—"
"How did you know she had been in the garden?"
"Why, 'cause she came from there. She hadn't ought to run like that in hot weather, and I told her so. I said 'Miss Eve'—What, sir?"
"Nothing," answered Wade, poking industriously at the tobacco in the bowl of his pipe. "You were saying—"
"I just told her, 'Miss Eve, you hadn't ought to overheat yourself like that, 'cause if you do you'll have a sunstroke.' There was a man over at the Center last summer who—"
"And what did she say?" asked Wade.
"She said she'd remember and not do it again. And then Miss Mullett came out and I went home."
"Who's Miss Mullett, Zephania?"
"She's Miss Walton's friend. They live there together in the Walton house every summer. Folks say Miss Mullett's very poor and Miss Walton looks after her."
"Young, is she?"
"Not so very. She's kind of middle-aged, I guess. She's real pleasant. Miss Walton thinks a lot of her."
"And they're here only in the summer?"
"Yes, sir. They come in June and stay until September. This is the third summer they've been here. Before that the house was empty for a long, long time; just like this one."
"Very interesting, Zephania. Thank you. Now don't let me keep you from your labors any longer."
"No, sir, but don't you want to hear about any one else?"
"Another time, thanks. We'll do it by degrees. If you tell me too much at once I shan't be able to remember it, you see."
"All right," answered Zephania, cheerfully. "Now I'll wash up the dishes."
After she had gone Wade sat for a long while in the green rep rocker, his eyes on the spray of lilac on the table and his unlighted pipe dangling from his mouth. From the kitchen came a loud clatter of dishes and pans and Zephania's voice raised in song:
"'We shall sleep, but not forever,
There will be a glorious dawn;
We shall meet to part, no, never,
On the resurrection morn!'"
