did. That will help him now more than anything else in the world, I do

believe. He is so _all_ alone.”

The next time she visited the big house she took with her all of Esther’s letters, those written from Boston as well as the later arrivals from Paris. She said little about them.

“I brought ’em along,” she said, “thinkin’ you might like to look ’em over sometime. They are real interestin’. She writes a good letter and what she says about tryin’ to make herself understand amongst all those French people is very funny.”

He did not answer, nor did he refer to the letters in their conversation. He did not refuse them, however, so she left them on the table when she went away.

By the end of June rumors had changed to certainties. Harniss now knew something of the extent of the disaster which had befallen its great man. Knew it, rather than guessed or imagined it. The acres of pasture land and the square mile of wood lots belonging to Foster Townsend were his no longer. Some of the real estate had gone at private sale; a public auction disposed of much more. The trotters and all the racing paraphernalia were sent to Boston, to be sold by dealers there. The mare, Claribel, Varunas Gifford’s especial pride, was bought by Sam Baker; this was the bitterest blow for Varunas. The famous span was sold. Of all the Townsend stable there remained but one horse, and that a sober, middle-aged animal fit only for pulling a carriage. And of all the carriages were left but two, a buggy and a carryall. The Townsend mansion, shorn of its surrounding meadows and pine-sprinkled fields, was still owned and occupied by the man who built it, and the Clark cottage and the acre and a half upon which it stood were still his. For some reason he had refused to sell the cottage property. It seemed odd, for every one knew that he had been offered, and more than once, a good price for it. Its situation upon the main road and adjoining the post office made it desirable.

The big mogul was no longer big, so far as his possessions were concerned. His progress through his native town was not triumphal now. His closest friends still stood by him, but his influence among the majority was waning. For years unconquerable he had been beaten at last and badly beaten. Elisha Cook had beaten him, even young Griffin had got the better of him. No longer a millionaire, the richest man in the county, he was now estimated to be worth perhaps forty or fifty thousand dollars exclusive of the house he lived in and the Clark cottage. There were a half dozen wealthier men than that in Harniss alone. The old guard among the politicians still came to consult him, but there was a new and younger element gaining strength and influence and they did not consult him at all. The Honorable Alpheus Mooney was their leader now.

Foster Townsend was quite aware of his shrunken importance. Yet there was no change in his manner and attitude. His excursions to and from the stores and the post office were now, for the most part, made on foot, but his step was firm, his dress as carefully chosen, his silk hat as neatly brushed as in the days when that hat was revered by the masses as the crown upon the head of the potentate whom they feared and honored. And his speech was as brusque, his nod as off-hand, his manner of greeting his fellow-citizens, high and low, just as uncompromising and stand-offish as ever.

Tobias Eldridge happened to be present at a meeting between Townsend and Congressman Mooney and had much to say about it.

“Mr. Mooney had drove over to see Simeon Thacher about somethin’ or other,” explained Tobias, “and they was standin’ right in the middle of the walk in front of the post office, talkin’. Don’t ask me what they was talkin’ about, some kind of politics of course-- Sim is takin’ a whole lot of interest in politics these days. Well, anyhow, there they was when along the sidewalk comes Cap’n Foster, walkin’ just as pompous and important as if old Cook hadn’t kicked him all the way home from Washin’ton. Mooney see him comin’ and he whispers somethin’ to Sim and both of ’em laughed. When the cap’n got abreast of ’em Mooney turned around. ‘Oh, how are you, Townsend?’ he says, kind of as if he wasn’t much interested.”

Mrs. Eldridge, to whom her husband was telling the story, interrupted.

“Is _that_ what he called him--Townsend?” she exclaimed. “Humph! The last time I heard ’em speakin’ together was up at the town hall ’most a year ago. ’Twas, ‘How do you do, Cap’n Townsend, sir?’ then. And if his tongue wasn’t buttered from bow to stern then I never heard one that was.”

“Wan’t no butter on it this time,” declared Tobias. “He just says ‘How are you?’ same as I’d say it to--to Millard Clark. Cap’n Foster never turned a hair. Just looked him over as if, for a minute, he wasn’t sure who ’twas. Then he nodded his head. ‘Oh, hello, Mooney,’ says he. ‘Sorry, but I can’t talk with you now. I’m in a hurry to get my mail.’ Well, Mooney stepped out of the way, but I declare if he didn’t look foolish. Yes, and mad. He ain’t used to havin’ folks shove him to one side much nowadays, I guess.”

The important Mr. Mooney was not the only person “shoved to one side” by Foster Townsend. Mrs. Wheeler, whose summer home was opened late in May, called at the mansion soon after her arrival.

“The man was almost rude to me,” she confided to Mrs. Colton. “I did practically all the talking while he sat there scarcely saying yes or no. And when I just mentioned to him--I hadn’t seen him since it happened, you know--what a shock it was to all of us, the news of his niece’s elopement with _that_ man of all people, he actually snubbed me. Changed the subject entirely. I shall _never_ go near him again.”

When Esther replied to her aunt’s letter she said that she had written to her uncle and should keep on doing so. “No matter whether he answers my letters or not,” she wrote, “I shall write him just the same. Bob had a note from Mr. Cook’s lawyer. It’s the first word he has had from his grandfather and even now Mr. Cook did not write the letter himself. But he must have told the lawyer to do it. I suppose he is so brimful of triumph that he couldn’t help gloating. Of course he knew Bob would tell me and it was his way of gloating over me, second-hand. Bob is far from gloating. He feels as sorry for poor Uncle Foster as I do. Oh, dear! that awful lawsuit was at the bottom of all our troubles, wasn’t it? The lawyer writes that Mr. Cook is far from well.”

Reliance continued to call at the Townsend house. Sometimes her calls appeared to be welcome and her chats with Foster Townsend almost bright and cheerful. At others he said practically nothing, and occasionally he sent word by Nabby that he was busy and could not see her. Twice he had dropped in at the cottage--although never when Millard was present, or at the millinery shop where Miss Makepeace might listen to or take part in the conversation. During the first of these calls Reliance mentioned something that Esther had written her. He nodded. “Um-hum,” he agreed. “I heard about that.”

So she knew he had received and read Esther’s letter. It was his sole reference to that letter, however, and she asked no questions. Esther wrote her aunt that he had not replied, but that she should keep on writing just the same.

During his second visit she brought up a subject which had been troubling her.

“Foster,” she said, “why don’t you sell this house and land? I know you could get a good price for it. Eben Hopkins told me himself that he wants to buy it. Since his house burned down he hasn’t got any regular place to live. Why don’t you let him buy?”

He shook his head. “That’s my business,” he said.

“But it is mine, too, in a way. I keep feelin’ that you are holdin’ on to it just because you don’t want to put me and Millard out. That is silly. I could find another place to go as well as not. Abbie would take me to board. Sometimes I think runnin’ a house, as well as ’tendin’ post office and a hat shop, is more than I ought to do, anyhow. I am gettin’ old and lazy, I guess.”

“Um--yes,” dryly. “You are about as lazy as a mosquito at camp meeting. What would you do with that half-brother of yours, if you boarded out?”

“I should board him out, too. I guess I could find a place where he could work for his board and keep.”

“Humph! When _he_ works I’ll buy a ticket to watch him.... There, there! You stay where you belong.”

“But, Foster, you don’t make a cent rentin’ this house to me. You could get a dozen tenants who would be glad to pay you twice as much. I expect everybody is sayin’ that very thing.”

He pulled his beard. “I expect they are,” he agreed. “Well, my say counts in a few things, even yet. That property is one of ’em. Talk about the weather, Reliance.”

One afternoon in early July when Reliance called at the big house she was refused admittance. Nabby said that the captain was not feeling very well and did not want to see any one. It had happened before and Reliance was neither offended nor worried. The next day, however, when she again called and received the same answer she began to think it strange. The following forenoon Millard, returning from an errand to the store, told her a piece of news.

“Old man Townsend is sick, so they say,” he announced. “Don’t know what’s the matter with him. So fur’s I’m concerned I don’t much care. Cranky old blow-hard! I hope he’s got the rheumatics and his shoulder gets to be sore as mine was after he chucked me over that hassock. I’d ought to have sued him for assault and battery that time. I would if it hadn’t been for you, Reliance Clark. I might have got some of that money old Cook squeezed out of him.”

His half-sister looked at him. “I was talkin’ with Seth Francis yesterday,” she said. “He says he might ship you for that Banks’ fishin’ trip if the rest of his crew would stand for it. He is afraid they wouldn’t. He says they’re pretty fussy about what they have aboard the schooner. If he could use you for bait, he says--but he can’t, the codfish are particular, too.”

Millard Fillmore’s mouth was closed. His sister’s attitude toward him was still anything but reassuring. A dozen times during the past month she had hinted that he might have to go to work and earn his own living. It was high time that sort of thing was forgotten.

Reliance made her third call at the mansion that afternoon and the sight of Doctor Bailey’s horse and buggy standing by the gate alarmed her. Nabby, however, would give no particulars.

“He’s got a cold or somethin’,” she said. “And he just won’t have me let anybody in to see him. I sent for the doctor on my own hook and I know he’ll give me the very Old Harry for doin’ it. Cranky! My good Lord! Oh, dear! And I’m so all alone here, too. Varunas--I presume likely you know it--is workin’ down to the livery stable four days a week now. Cap’n Foster made him take the job. Said there wasn’t enough to keep him busy around here, and there ain’t, of course. He’s here nights and that helps a little, but I feel so dreadful lonesome and--and responsible. If the cap’n should be sick--real sick--I don’t know what I _would_ do. No, no, Reliance, there ain’t any use for you to keep runnin’ here. He won’t see you. I’ll let you know if he gets real bad.”

So for three days and nights Reliance waited anxiously. Then, on the morning of the fourth day, she found a note tucked under the door leading to the millinery shop. Varunas had left it on his way to the livery stable. It was from Nabby.

“Do come up here soon as ever you can,” Mrs. Gifford had written. “I am about crazy. Please come.”

Reliance went, of course. Nabby--a white-faced, nervous Nabby--admitted her to the kitchen and poured into her ears a tale which drove the color from her own cheeks. Foster Townsend was ill, seriously ill, threatened with pneumonia. The doctor was alarmed. He had insisted upon a nurse, but his patient flatly refused to have one in the house.

“I can’t do a thing with him,” declared the housekeeper, “and Doctor Bailey he can’t neither. He’s beginnin’ to be out of his head part of the time, and when he ain’t he vows that if I fetch a hired nurse into this house he’ll heave her out of the window. I don’t know but he would, too. You know how he is when his mind’s sot. And who could I get? The doctor says one of them hospital nurses from Boston, same as took care of poor Mr. Covell; but how can I get one of them? They are so dreadful expensive and I’d have to do it on my own responsibility--and what would he say? And--and that ain’t it either, Reliance. He doesn’t want anybody. Between you and me,” she lowered her voice, “I do believe he don’t care two cents what happens to him. Just as soon die as not, I guess. Oh, Reliance, he ain’t the way he used to be. He makes out to folks that he is, but he ain’t. This--this business about Esther and losin’ that law case have--well, they’ve broke him all to pieces. What _shall_ I do? I never was so tired and--and discouraged in my life.”

It was some few minutes before Reliance answered. She bade Nabby keep still while she did a little thinking. When, at last, she did speak, her remarks were very much to the point.

For a fortnight Foster Townsend’s mind was little concerned with his own affairs or those of any one else. The disease ran its course, of pain and delirium, fever and weakness. When, at last, he turned the corner and began faintly to realize where he was and what was going on about him he noticed that Reliance Clark was sitting in the chair by his bedroom window, sewing. He watched her for a time without speaking. Then he whispered her name.

“Reliance,” he murmured, “that’s you, isn’t it?”

She put down the hat she was trimming and crossed to his bedside.

“Yes, Foster,” she said cheerfully, “it is me. My! I am glad to have you enough better to know who it is. You are goin’ to be all right now; the doctor says so.”

His condition did not interest him, apparently.

“What in the devil are you doing here?” he whispered.

“Oh, I just came up to see how you were gettin’ along. Don’t worry about me. And don’t try to talk.”

He moved his head impatiently on the pillow.

“You were here yesterday, weren’t you?” he asked. “Seems as if I remember seeing you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I might have been. Now you lie still. Go to sleep, if you can.”

He did, after a while. When he awoke it was Nabby who sat by the window. He asked her questions, but the replies were unsatisfying. The following day Reliance was again with him, but he did not question her. She was glad of the omission, but she could not understand it. He was gaining strength hourly and he was now perfectly rational. Why he did not subject her to the cross-examination she expected seemed queer. A week passed and still he did not do so. Nabby reported that he had not tried to learn anything from her.

“He’s thinkin’ it out himself,” she declared. “That would be his way. Some of these days he’ll dump down on both of us like a tipcart load of clamshells, see if he don’t.”

Which was precisely what he did. Reliance came into the room one morning and found him propped in the rocker and awaiting her.

“What have you done to Nabby Gifford?” she asked. “She looks scared to death. What have you been sayin’ to her?”

He did not reply. Instead he gave an order, in quite his old way.

“You sit down alongside here,” he commanded. “That’s right. Now then, let’s hear what you have got to say? Nabby has told me her end of the yarn and I dragged what I could out of the doctor. No, no! I’ll do the bulk of the talking. You can say yes or no. Do you understand?”

She smiled. “I shouldn’t wonder if I did, Foster,” she replied. “I’ll try to, anyway.”

“Humph! All right. Now then; is it true that you have been living in this house for three weeks or more? Taking care of me?”

“Helpin’ take care of you--yes. Nabby has done as much--or more.”

“What did you do that for?”

“Somebody had to. You told Nabby that you would throw a regular nurse out of the window. I knew you couldn’t do that to me.”

“Humph! If I had had my senses I should have tried. Who is running the post office?”

“I am. I go down there before the mails come in and when the outgoin’ mail has to be got ready. Millard and Abbie are there other times.”

“How about your bonnet making?”

“I do my share of that. I have finished two hats right here in this room. They were pretty good-lookin’ hats, too, if I do say it.”

“Humph!... Pshaw!... Well, here’s the real thing I want to know: Is it true that somebody else--Eben Hopkins’s family--are living in that house I rent to you?”

“Why, yes, it is. I couldn’t live in it. I had enough to keep me busy up here. Eben is dreadfully anxious to buy that house; you know that. I couldn’t sell it to him, for it isn’t mine to sell.”

“No,” emphatically, “you are right, it isn’t.”

“But I could rent it to him for six months; sublet it at a bigger rent than I pay you, and make a little extra money. So that is what I did. He’s taken it furnished, with my things in it. By the time his six months are up he’ll want to buy it more than ever, or I miss my guess. If you take my advice you’ll sell it to him.”

He tried to lean forward in the chair, gave it up and sank back again.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he demanded, angrily, “that you have let another tenant into my house without asking me whether you could or not?”

“I couldn’t ask you. You were too sick to be asked anything.”

“Is there a clause in your lease that gives you the right to sublet?”

She laughed. “You’re jokin’, Foster,” she said. “You know as well as I do that I never had any lease in all the years I have rented from you. The Hopkinses are in and I am out. It’s all settled. You are gettin’ as much money as you got from me and I am gettin’ a little on my own account. Everybody is satisfied, or ought to be. Stop fussin’ and behave yourself.”

He groaned. “If only I had my strength!” he muttered. “You’ve got me down and you know it. Tut, tut, tut! What have you done with Millard?”

“He has got a room with Hulda Makepeace, Abbie’s sister-in-law. He is supposed to do work enough around the place to pay for his room and meals. I only hope he does it. And between times he is with me at the post office same as always.”

“Humph! And you are living up here.”

“I am for the present. By and by, when you are well enough so that Nabby can get along alone, I am goin’ to have a room with Abbie. She and I will do light housekeepin’ together. It’s a real sensible arrangement. Don’t you think so?”

He did not answer. It was some time before he spoke again. When he did, he said:

“Humph! You’re a smart woman, Reliance, but don’t you get the idea that I’m such a fool as not to understand what brought you up here. I don’t quite understand why you sublet your house. I rather guess there’s something behind that you haven’t told me. But, according to the doctor, the care you have been taking of me, night and day, is the principal reason why I’m not in the cemetery this minute. What did you do it for? Blamed if I think it was worth while.”

“I do. And Doctor Bailey ought to know better than to tell you any such silly stuff.... Well, there! I guess you are well enough to be left a few minutes and I must run and help Nabby.... Oh, there is a letter on the table for you. It’s got a French stamp on it. Here it is. Now you behave yourself till I come back.”