“Heavens, man!  I’m not an undertaker.  I asked because I’m rather rocky myself.  That is, partly, why I’m here.”

The mournful one nodded.  “Good a reason as any,” he assented sadly.

“By the way—­er—­there used to be a Dr. Coombe here, didn’t there?  Didn’t he live somewhere hereabouts?”

The sad one turned his meditative eyes from their focus upon the horse’s back and rested them upon the open and guileleas face by his side.  Then from deep down in his brawny throat came a sudden sound.  It was unmistakably a chuckle.  Without the slightest trace of an accompanying smile, the sound was startling.

“What’s the matter?” asked the doctor irritably.

“Nothing.  Only when anybody’s seen Esther, they always start asking about old Doc.  Coombe.  It gives them a kind of opening.  Yes, that’s the old Coombe place—­over there.  The one with the fir trees and the big elm by the gate.”

“A pleasant house,” said Callandar in a detached voice.

“So-so.  The old Doc. uster putter around considerable.  But they say his widow isn’t doing much to keep it up.  Tumble flighty woman, so they say.  Young, you know, just about young enough to be the old Doc.’s daughter—­”

“But—­”

“Oh!  Esther ain’t her child.  Esther’s ma died when she was a baby.  There is a child, though, Jane they call her, a pindling little thing.  But p’r’aps you’ve met Jane too?”

“I did not say—­”

“No, but I thought likely if you’d met one, you’d have met the other.  Jane’s nearly always hanging around Esther ’cept in school hours.  Awful fond of Esther she is.  Folks say that Esther’s more of a mother to Jane than her own ma.  But I dunno.  Alviry says it’s a shame the way Esther’s put upon; all the cares of the house when she had ought to be playing with her dolls.  Stepmother with ’bout as much sense as a fly.  Old Aunt Amy, nice sort of soul but—­” he touched his head significantly and heaved the heaviest sigh yet.

“Do you mean to say that there is an aunt who isn’t quite sane?” asked Callandar, surprised.

“I don’t say so.  Some folks does.  Alviry says she’s a whole lot wiser than some of the rest of us.”

From the tone of this remark it was evident that Alviry’s observation had been intended personally.  Callandar choked back a laugh.

“What say?” asked the other suspiciously.

“I said, rather hard luck for a young girl.”

The mournful one nodded and relapsed into melancholy.  The doctor turned his attention to the house which a flicker of the whip had pointed out.  It was long and low, with wide verandas and a somewhat neglected-looking lawn.  At one side an avenue of lilacs curved, and on the other stood a stiff line of fir trees.  The front of the house was well shaded by maples and near the gate stood a giant elm-tree, around the trunk of which ran a circular seat.  It all looked cool, green and inviting.  As the old horse walked sedately past, a woman’s figure came out of one of the long windows and flung itself lightly, yet, even at that distance, with a certain suggestion of impatience, into one of the veranda chairs.