"Has anything ever been done, any step taken, to correct the unfounded report which got out at the time of my father's death, in regard to Dr. Fair's treatment of the case?" he asked abruptly one evening.
The color rose in Mrs. Whittredge's face, and she looked up from her work. "I do not understand you. How do you know it was unfounded?"
"For one thing, because I have taken pains to investigate. I saw Dr. Bell in Baltimore."
"May I ask why this sudden zeal?" His mother went on taking careful stitches in a piece of linen.
"For the reason that until a few weeks ago I knew nothing about it. Now I cannot rest till the cruel wrong has been in some measure righted."
"And you conclude without question, at once, that all the wrong is on one side. But I should not be surprised. I have ever been the last to be considered by my children."
"You are not quite fair, mother," Allan answered gently, touched by the unhappy bit of truth in this remark; "but I'll not defend myself more than to say that I am not judging any one. I only wish the wrong on our side made right." And he added, what he realized afterward had the sound of a threat, "Unless it is done, I can never call Friendship my home."
Here it ended for the time.
And now, after a week of rain, October began with perfect weather, and from the strangers who flocked to the auction, attracted by reports of Lowestoft plates and Sheraton furniture, were heard many expressions of delight at the beauty of the old town.