"It's a good story," said the young doctor. "Do you believe it, Mr.
Butters?"
"Wal, I do'no' as I exactly believe it; I was sort of illustratin' the different kinds of fools there was in the world, that's all."
They were silent. The sun went down, but the light stayed in the young doctor's face.
* * * * *
There was a commotion in the room below. Voices were raised, feminine voices, shrill with excitement. Then came a bustle on the stairs, and the sound of feet; then one voice, breathless but decided.
"I tell ye, I know the way. There's no need to show me, and I won't have it. I haven't been up these stairs for near seventy years, Phoebe, since the day of your caudle-party, but I know the way as well as you do, and I'll thank you to stay where you are."
The next moment the door opened, and Mrs. Tree stood on the threshold, panting and triumphant. Her black eyes twinkled with affection and malice. "Well, young sir!" she said, as Geoffrey ran to give her his sound arm, and led her in, and placed her in the seat of honour. "Fine doings since I last saw you! Humph! you look pretty well, considering all. Who's this? Ithuriel Butters! How do you do, Ithuriel? I haven't seen you for forty years, but I should know you in the Fiji Islands."
"I should know you, too, anywhere, Mis' Tree!" responded Mr. Butters, heartily. "I'm rejoicin' glad to see ye."
"You wear well, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree, kindly. "If you would cut all that mess of hair and beard, you would be a good-looking man still; but I didn't come here to talk to you."
She turned to Geoffrey in some excitement. "I'll speak right out," she said. "Now's now, and next time's never. I've let the cat out of the bag. Phoebe has found out about little Vesta's setting your arm and all, and she's proper mad. Says she'll send the child home to-morrow for good and all. She's getting on her shoes this minute; I never could abide those morocco shoes. She'll be up here in no time. I thought I'd come up first and tell you."