“Then there’s nothing to be done just now, John,” remarked Tom McGregor, “but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a disordered brain.”

The older man was silent until John asked, “Is it worth while to talk to Aunt Ann about it—­advise against it?”

“Quite useless, John.  I advise you and Leila quietly to assist your aunt, and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two.”

“No, Doctor.  To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down whatever he can find, useful or useless.”

With little satisfaction from this talk, John rode homeward.  Sitting in the saddle at the post-office door, he called for the mail.  Mrs. Crocker, of undiminished bulk and rosiness, came out.

“How’s your arm, Captain?  I bet it’s more use than mine.  The rheumatism have took to permanent boarding in my right shoulder—­and no glory like you got to show for it.”

“I could do without the glory.”

“No, you couldn’t.  If I was a man, I’d be glad to swap; you’ve got to make believe a bit, but the town’s proud of you.  I guess some one will soon have to look after them Penhallow mills.”  Mrs. Crocker put a detaining hand on his bridle reins.

“Yes, yes,” said John absently, glancing well pleased over a kind letter of inquiry from General Parke.  “Well, what else, Mrs. Crocker?”

“The Colonel quite give me a shock this morning.  He’s not been here—­no, not once—­since he came home.  Well, he walked in quite spry and told me there was to be a rummage-sale in a week, and I was to put up a notice and tell everybody.  Why, Mr. John, he was that natural.  He went away laughing because I offered to sell my old man—­twenty-five cents a pound.  I did notice he don’t walk right.”

“Yes, I have noticed that; but this notion of a rummage-sale has seemed to make him better.  Now, suppose you let my reins go.”

“Oh, Mr. John, don’t be in such a hurry.  It’s surely a responsible place, this post-office; I don’t ever get time for a quiet talk.”

“Well, Mrs. Crocker, now is your chance.”

“That’s real good of you.  I was wanting to ask if you ever heard anything of Peter Lamb.  He wrote to his mother he was in the army, and then that was the end of it.  She keeps on writing once a week, and the letters come back stamped ‘not found.’  I guess he’s wandering somewhere.”

“Like enough.  I went to see her last week, but I could not give her any comfort.  She couldn’t have a worse thing happen than for Peter to come home.”

“Well, Captain John, when you come to have babies of your own, you’ll find mothers are a curious kind of animal.”

“Mothers!” laughed John.  “I hope there won’t be more than one.  Now, I really must go.”

“Oh, just one more real bit of news.  Lawyer Swallow’s wife was here yesterday with another man to settle up her husband’s business.”