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Mrs. Tony had indeed gone, refusing Mrs. Theodora’s invitation to stay to tea, so eager was she to tell her story. And Mrs. Theodora, at that very minute, was out in her kitchen yard, giving her instructions to Potter Vane, the twelve year old urchin who cut her wood and did sundry other chores for her.

“Potter,” she said, excitedly, “run over to the Kings’ and tell Eben to come over here immediately–no matter what he’s at. Tell him I want to see him about something of the greatest importance.”

Mrs. Theodora thought that this was a master stroke.

“That match is as good as made,” she thought triumphantly as she picked up chips to start the tea fire. “If Judith suspects that Eben is here she is quite likely to stay in her room and refuse to come down. But if she does I’ll march him upstairs to her door and make him ask her through the keyhole. You can’t stump Theodora Whitney.”

Alas! Ten minutes later Potter returned with the unwelcome news that Eben was away from home.

“He went to Wexbridge about half an hour ago, his ma said. She said she’d tell him to come right over as soon as he kem home.”

Mrs. Theodora had to content herself with this, but she felt troubled. She knew Mrs. Tony Mack’s capabilities for spreading news. What if Bruce Marshall should hear it before Eben?

That evening Jacob Plowden’s store at Wexbridge was full of men, sitting about on kegs and counters or huddling around the stove, for the March air had grown sharp as the sun lowered in the creamy sky over the Ramble Valley hills. Eben King had a keg in the corner. He was in no hurry to go home for he loved gossip dearly and the Wexbridge stores abounded with it. He had exhausted the news of Peter Stanley’s store across the bridge and now he meant to hear what was saying at Plowden’s. Bruce Marshall was there, too, buying groceries and being waited on by Nora Plowden, who was by no means averse to the service, although as a rule her father’s customers received scanty tolerance at her hands.

“What are the Valley roads like, Marshall?” asked a Wexbridge man, between two squirts of tobacco juice.

“Bad,” said Bruce briefly. “Another warm day will finish the sleighing.”

“Are they crossing at Malley’s Creek yet?” asked Plowden.

“No, Jack Carr got in there day before yesterday. Nearly lost his mare. I came round by the main road,” responded Bruce.

The door opened at this point and Tony Mack came in. As soon as he closed the door he doubled up in a fit of chuckles, which lasted until he was purple in the face.

“Is the man crazy?” demanded Plowden, who had never seen lean little Tony visited like this before.

“Crazy nothin’,” retorted Tony. “You’ll laugh too, when you hear it. Such a joke! Hee-tee-tee-hee-e. Theodora Whitney has been badgering Judith Stewart so much about bein’ an old maid that Judith’s got mad and vowed she’ll marry the first man that asks her. Hee-tee-tee-hee-e-e-e! My old woman was there and heard her. She’ll keep her word, too. She ain’t old Joshua Stewart’s daughter for nothin’. If he said he’d do a thing he did it if it tuck the hair off. If I was a young feller now! Hee-tee-tee-hee-e-e-e!”

Bruce Marshall swung round on one foot. His face was crimson and if looks could kill, Tony Mack would have fallen dead in the middle of his sniggers.

“You needn’t mind doing up that parcel for me,” he said to Nora. “I’ll not wait for it.”

On his way to the door Eben King brushed past him. A shout of laughter from the assembled men followed them. The others streamed out in their wake, realizing that a race was afoot. Tony alone remained inside, helpless with chuckling.

Eben King’s horse was tied at the door. He had nothing to do but step in and drive off. Bruce had put his mare in at Billy Bender’s across the bridge, intending to spend the evening there. He knew that this would handicap him seriously, but he strode down the road with a determined expression on his handsome face. Fifteen minutes later he drove past the store, his gray mare going at a sharp gait. The crowd in front of Plowden’s cheered him, their sympathies were with him for King was not popular. Tony had come out and shouted, “Here’s luck to you, brother,” after which he doubled up with renewed laughter. Such a lark! And he, Tony, had set it afoot! It would be a story to tell for years.