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“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I can’t. Father might wake up. I never leave him alone.”

“Never mind, then! let’s sit right down here on the steps. After all, perhaps it’s pleasanter. What a garden! It’s like my mother’s. I could pick out every leaf in the dark, by the smell. But you’re alone, aren’t you? I’m not keeping you from any one?”

“Oh, no! I’m all alone, except father.”

“Yes. The fact is, I went into your school to-day, and the teacher said she was coming here to-night. She offered to bring you a message, but I said I should come myself. I’m abominably late. I couldn’t get here any earlier.”

“Oh, yes! Phoebe! She was here over an hour ago. Phoebe’s a real comfort to me.” She was seated on the step above him, and it seemed very pleasant to her to hear his voice, without encountering also the challenge of his eyes.

“No, is she though?” The doctor suddenly faced round upon her. “Tell me about it!”

Then, quite to her surprise, Dorcas found herself talking under the spell of an interest so eager that it bore her on, entirely without her own guidance.

“Well, you see there’s a good many things I keep from father. He never’s been himself since mother died. She was the mainstay here. But he thinks the church prospers just the same, and I never’ve told him the attendance dropped off when they put up that ‘Piscopal building over to Sudleigh. You ‘ain’t lived here long enough to hear much about that, but it’s been a real trial to him. The summer boarders built it, and some rich body keeps it up; and our folks think it’s complete to go over there and worship, and get up and down, and say their prayers out loud.”

The doctor laughed out.

“I’ve heard about it,” said he. “You know what Brad Freeman told Uncle Eli Pike, when they went in to see how the service was managed? Somebody found the places in the prayer-book for them, and Brad was quick-witted, and got on very well; but Eli kept dropping behind. Brad nudged him. ‘Read!’ he said out loud. ‘Read like the devil!’ I’ve heard that story on an average of twice a day since I came to Tiverton. I’m not tired of it yet!”

Miss Dorcas, too, had heard it, and shrunk from its undisguised profanity. Now she laughed responsively.

“I guess they do have queer ways,” she owned. “Well, I never let father know any of our folks go over there. He’d be terrible tried. And I’ve made it my part in our meeting to keep up the young folks’ interest as much as I can. I’ve been careful never to miss my Sunday-school class. They’re all girls, nice as new pins, every one of ’em! Phoebe was in it till a little while ago, but now she comes here and sits in the kitchen while I’m gone. I don’t want father to know that, for I hope it never’ll come into his head he’s so helpless; but I should be worried to death to have him left alone. So Phoebe sits there with her book, ready to spring if she should hear anything out o’ the way.”

The doctor had lapsed into his absent mood, but now he roused himself, with sudden interest.

“That’s very good of her, isn’t it?” he said “You trust her, don’t you?”

“Trust Phoebe! Well, I guess I do! I’ve known her ever since she went to Number Five, and now she’s keeping the school herself. She’s a real noble girl!”

“Tell me more!” said the doctor, warmly. “I want to hear it all. You’re so new to me here in Tiverton! I want to get acquainted.”

Miss Dorcas suddenly felt as if she had been talking a great deal, and an overwhelming shyness fell upon her.

“There isn’t much to tell,” she hesitated. “I don’t know’s anything’d happened to me for years, till father had his ill-turn in the spring, and we called you in. He don’t seem to realize his sickness was anything much. I’ve told the neighbors not to dwell on it when they’re with him. Phoebe won’t; she’s got some sense.”