Judge Briscoe dropped wearily from his horse at his own gate, and said to a wan girl who came running down the walk to meet him: "There is nothing, yet.

I sent the telegram to your mother--to Mrs.
Sherwood." Helen turned away without answering.

Her face was very white and looked pinched about the mouth.

She went back to where old Fisbee sat on the porch, his white head held between his two hands; he was rocking himself to and fro.

She touched him gently, but he did not look up.