The three talked for a moment and then Charles held out his hand.

“Well, so long, Jed,” he said.  “If all goes well I shall be back here to-morrow.  Wish me luck.”

“I’ll be wishin’ it for you, Charlie, all day and all night with double time after hours and no allowance for meals,” replied Jed earnestly.  “You think Sam’ll get your note all right?”

“Yes, I shall tuck it under the bank door as I go by.  If he should ask what the business was which called me to Boston so suddenly, just dodge the question as well as you can, won’t you, Jed?”

“Sartin sure.  He’ll think he’s dealin’ with that colored man that sticks his head through the sheet over to the Ostable fair, the one the boys heave baseballs at.  No, he won’t get anything out of me, Charlie.  And the other letter; that’ll get to—­to her?”

The young man nodded gravely.  “I shall mail it at the post-office now,” he said.  “Don’t talk about it, please.  Well, Sis, good-by—­ until to-morrow.”

Jed turned his head.  When he looked again Phillips was walking rapidly away along the sidewalk.  Ruth, leaning over the fence, watched him as long as he was in sight.  And Jed watched her anxiously.  When she turned he ventured to speak.

“Don’t worry,” he begged.  “Don’t.  He’s doin’ the right thing.  I know he is.”

She wiped her eyes.  “Oh, perhaps he is,” she said sadly.  “I hope he is.”

“I know he is.  I only wish I could do it, too. . . .  I would,” he drawled, solemnly, “only for nineteen or twenty reasons, the first one of ’em bein’ that they wouldn’t let me.”

She made no comment on this observation.  They walked together back toward the house.

“Jed,” she said, after a moment, “it has come at last, hasn’t it, the day we have foreseen and that I have dreaded so?  Poor Charlie!  Think what this means to him.”

Jed nodded.  “He’s puttin’ it to the touch, to win or lose it all,” he agreed, “same as was in the poem he and I talked about that time.  Well, I honestly believe he feels better now that he’s made up his mind to do it, better than he has for many a long day.”

“Yes, I suppose he does.  And he is doing, too, what he has wanted to do ever since he came here.  He told me so when he came in from his long interview with you last night.  He and I talked until it was almost day and we told each other—­many things.”

She paused.  Jed, looking up, caught her eye.  To his surprise she colored and seemed slightly confused.

“He had not said anything before,” she went on rather hurriedly, “because he thought I would feel so terribly to have him do it.  So I should, and so I do, of course—­in one way, but in another I am glad.  Glad, and very proud.”

“Sartin.  He’ll make us all proud of him, or I miss my guess.  And, as for the rest of it, the big question that counts most of all to him, I hope—­yes, I think that’s comin’ out all right, too.  Ruth,” he added, “you remember what I told you about Sam’s talk with me that afternoon when he came back from Wapatomac.  If Maud cares for him as much as all that she ain’t goin’ to throw him over on account of what happened in Middleford.”