“Fine spirited boy,” muttered Mr. Upjohn under his breath.  “Very fine.  Will make a man some day.”

“Not so big as you, though, I won’t be when I’m a man,” declared Olly.  “You’re too fat.”

“Now just hear him!” exclaimed Mr. Upjohn, shaking all over with corpulent mirth.  “Maybe you would rather be like Mr. Webb then?”

“No, I wouldn’t neither,” retorted Olly, nothing deterred by that gentleman’s presence from a frank exposure of his sentiments.  “He’s too lean.  He’s leaner than any thing.  He’s just like the blade of my pocket-knife with clothes on.  Oh, crickey!”

It was conveniently discovered at this crisis that it was Olly’s bedtime, and he was with some difficulty conveyed from the parlor, followed by an angry glare from Gerald and a severely truthful comment from Mrs. Upjohn.  De Forest outstayed the rest of the leave-takers.  Phebe thought it hard, when she so wanted to have Gerald all to herself on this last evening; and she wondered too that Halloway had not come to say good-by.  He came in, however, at last, flushed and tired, apologizing for the lateness of his call, saying he had been sent for by two of his parishioners who were also down with the fever.

“It looks something like an epidemic,” remarked Gerald.  “I am really rather glad we are going.”

“You have no ambition to remain and turn Florence Nightingale then?” asked De Forest.

“Not in the slightest.  It is a role I am eminently unfitted for.  I detest sick people.”

“Not always, I think, Gerald,” said Phebe, with a grateful glance, which Gerald returned with one of real though undemonstrative tenderness.

“Your case was very different, Phebe.”

“I should think it would be extremely difficult to detest Miss Phebe under even the must aggravating circumstances,” said Halloway, smiling frankly at her.  “Hallo, who is this?”

It was Olly, bootless and coatless, whom the sound of Halloway’s voice had brought down from the midst of his slow preparations for bed, to bid his friend good-by, and who sprang upon him with a rush of suffocating affection.

“What would Mrs. Upjohn say!” drawled De Forest.

Gerald rose at once to send off the child with a reprimand, and remained standing after he had gone.  De Forest rose too and slowly came toward her.

“I suppose I had better leave you to follow Olly up-stairs.  I wish you to be fresh to entertain me during to-morrow’s tedious journey.”

“What, do you go back to-morrow too?” asked Gerald, in surprise.  “I thought you were to stay till next week.”

“I am afraid of the fever,” pronounced De Forest with great gravity, his handsome eyes fastened on her face.  “I am running away from it.  I don’t think it safe to stay another day in the place.”

Gerald colored a little,—­not at his words, but his look.  “Then I suppose I need not bid you good-by,” she said, turning away.  She seemed almost embarrassed.  “Good-night.”