"All right, Spruce! Say I'll come!"

"Jes' what I told her, sir," answered Spruce, in a remarkably gentle tone; "It's a bit okkard, but if she doos her dooty, no 'arm can 'appen, no matter if it's all the riches of the yearth."

John felt more helpless than ever. What was the man talking about? He drew closer and spoke in a more emphatic key.

"Look here, Spruce! Tell your wife I'll come after luncheon. Do you hear? Af-ter lun-cheon!"

Spruce put one hand to his ear and smiled blandly.

"Ezackly, sir! I quite agrees with ye; but women are allus a bit worrity-like, and of course there's a deal to do, and she got frightened with the keys, and when she saw them fine clothes, and what not,--so I drawed her a glass of cherry-cordial, an' sez I, 'Now, old 'ooman,' sez I, 'don't skeer yerself into fits. I'll fetch the passon to ye.' And with that, she seemed easier in her mind. Lord love ye!--it's a great thing to fetch the passon at once when there's anything a bit wrong. So, if you'd step up, sir?--"

Driven almost to despair, Walden put his lips close to the old man's obstinate ear.

"Yes," he bellowed--"af-ter lun-cheon! Yes! Ye-es!"

His reply at last penetrated the closed auricular doors of Spruce's brain.