"So he refused to come an' play, did he?" Tom questioned.
"Refused point-blank, so Nance said, and he made her promise that she would never again ask him to go to service, nor the reason why he would not do so. Now, what can you make out of that?"
"He's a reason, no doubt," was the reply.
"Don't you remember, Tom," Dick continued, "how strangely he acted when we first came to his house last spring?"
"I haven't fergotten, pard. He certainly did act queer. It was a problem to me."
Tom didn't say that it was a problem no longer. He understood now very well why Martin was unwilling to attend the service, and accordingly had demanded those promises from Nance. But nothing would induce him to divulge any of the knowledge of Martin's past life which he himself had acquired. "What people don't know about sich things," he had said to himself, "won't do any harm, an' it might make matters very uncomfortable fer Martin an' the lassie."
Martin was unusually quiet all day Sunday. He did not go out to the hills, but sat under the shade of a large tree near the house, reading, or pretending to do so. Nance was with him most of the day reading a book Nurse Marion had let her have. It was entitled "In the Service of the King," and dealt with the work of trained nurses in all lands. Several chapters told of the heroic services of devoted women in the mission fields. Nance was thrilled and delighted with the book. At times she would call her father's attention to some striking passage, and read it to him.
As the afternoon waned Nance left home, for Nurse Marion had invited her to tea in her little room.
"You do not mind my leaving you, daddy?" she asked, putting her arms around his neck, and giving him an affectionate kiss.
"I am always pleased to see you happy, little one," Martin replied with a smile.