as at times one longs for cool air upon the temples, for balm of nature’s distilling.  He never thought that because Sophia was a woman she would be sure to keep him waiting and forget the candle.  He felt satisfied she would do just what she said, and even to his impatience the minutes did not seem long before he saw her return round the same corner of the outbuildings, her brother beside her, lantern in hand.

So in the waning daylight the three went together to the Harmon house, and found torn bits of letters scattered on floor and window-sill near the spot where Alec had last seen the unlooked-for apparition.  The letters, to all appearance, had belonged to the dentist, but they were torn very small.  The three searched the house all through by the light of more than one candle, and came out again into the darkness of the summer night, for the time nothing wiser concerning the mystery, but feeling entirely at home with one another.

CHAPTER X.

Although Mrs. Rexford had been without an indoor servant for several months of the winter, she had been fortunate enough to secure one for the summer.  Her dairy had not yet reached the point of producing marketable wares, but it supplied the family and farm hands with milk and butter, and, since the cows had been bought in spring, the one serving girl had accomplished this amount of dairy work satisfactorily.  The day after Sophia and Harold had made their evening excursion through the Harmon house, this maid by reason of some ailment was laid up, and the cows became for the first time a difficulty to the household, for the art of milking was not to be learnt in an hour, and it had not yet been acquired by any member of the Rexford family.

Harold was of course in the fields.  Sophia went to the village to see if she could induce anyone to come to their aid; but, hard as it was to obtain service at any time, in the weeks of harvest it was an impossibility.  When she returned, she went in by the lane, the yard, and the kitchen door.  All the family had fallen into the habit of using this door more than any other.  Such habits speak for themselves.

“Mamma!”—­she took off her gloves energetically as she spoke—­“there is nothing for it but to ask Louise to get up and do the milking—­the mere milking—­and I will carry the pails.”

Louise was the pale-faced Canadian servant.  She often told them she preferred to be called “Loulou,” but in this she was not indulged.

Mrs. Rexford stirred Dottie’s porridge in a small saucepan.  Said she, “When Gertrude Bennett is forced to milk her cows, she waits till after dark; her mother told me so in confidence.  Yes, child, yes”—­this was to Dottie who, beginning to whimper, put an end to the conversation.

Sophia did not wait till after dark:  it might be an excellent way for Miss Bennett, but it was not her way.  Neither did she ask her younger sisters to help her, for she knew that if caught in the act by any acquaintance the girls were at an age to feel an acute distress.  She succeeded, by the administration of tea and tonic, in coaxing the servant to perform her part.  Having slightly caught up her skirts and taken the empty pails on her arms, Sophia started ahead down the lane.