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That night Janet rubbed mutton tallow on her hands. She had never done that before–she had thought it vain and foolish–though Avery did it every night. But that afternoon on the pond Randall had said something about the beautiful shape of her pretty slender hands. He had never paid her a compliment before. Her hands were brown and a little hard–not soft and white like Avery’s. So Janet resorted to the mutton tallow. If one had a scrap of beauty, if only in one’s hands, one might as well take care of it.

Having got her ointment, the next thing was to make use of it. This was not so easy–because, in the first place, it must not be done when there was any danger of Avery’s seeing some other than Randall first–and it must be done without Avery’s knowing it. The two problems combined were almost too much for Janet. She bided her chance like a watchful cat–but it did not come. Two weeks went by and it had not come. Janet was getting very desperate. The wedding day was only a week away. The bride’s cake was made and the turkeys fattened. The invitations were sent out. Janet’s own bridesmaid dress was ready. And still the little pill box in the till of Janet’s blue chest was unopened. She had never even opened it, lest virtue escape.

Then her chance came at last, unexpectedly. One evening at dusk, when Janet was crossing the little dark upstairs hall, Aunt Matilda called up to her.

“Janet, send Avery down. There is a young man wanting to see her.”

Aunt Matilda was laughing a little–as she always did when Randall came. It was a habit with her, hanging over from the early days of Randall’s courtship. Janet went on into their room to tell Avery. And lo, Avery was lying asleep on her bed, tired out from her busy day. Janet, after one glance, flew to her chest. She took out her pill box and opened it, a little fearfully. The toad ointment was there, dark and unpleasant enough to view. Janet tiptoed breathlessly to the bed and gingerly scraped the tip of her finger in the ointment.

She said so little would be enough–oh, I hope I’m not doing wrong.

Trembling with excitement, she brushed lightly the white lids of Avery’s eyes. Avery stirred and opened them. Janet guiltily thrust her pill box behind her.

“Randall is downstairs asking for you, Avery.”

Avery sat up, looking annoyed. She had not expected Randall that evening and would greatly have preferred a continuance of her nap. She went down crossly enough, but looking very lovely, flushed from sleep. Janet stood in their room, clasping her cold hands nervously over her breast. Would the charm work? Oh, she must know–she must know. She could not wait. After a few moments that seemed like years she crept down the stairs and out into the dusk of the June-warm September night. Like a shadow she slipped up to the open parlour window and looked cautiously in between the white muslin curtains. The next minute she had fallen on her knees in the mint bed. She wished she could die then and there.

The young man in the parlour was not Randall Burnley. He was dark and smart and handsome; he was sitting on the sofa by Avery’s side, holding her hands in his, smiling into her rosy, delighted, excited face. And he was Bruce Gordon–no doubt of that. Bruce Gordon, the expected cousin from Scotland!

“Oh, what have I done? What have I done?” moaned poor Janet, wringing her hands. She had seen Avery’s face quite plainly–had seen the look in her eyes. Avery had never looked at Randall Burnley like that. Granny Thomas’ abominable ointment had worked all right–and Avery had fallen in love with the wrong man.

Janet, cold with horror and remorse, dragged herself up to the window again and listened. She must know–she must be sure. She could hear only a word here and there, but that word was enough.