This is the accident and the secret.  Of course, I knew that there never was such a glorious person born in the world as Roxanne’s grown brother, Mr. Douglass Byrd, but I didn’t know what kind of a genius he was.  It was something of a shock to find out, for I felt sure he was a wonderful poet that the world was waiting to hear sing forth.  That is what he looks like.  He’s tall and slim except his shoulders, which are almost as broad as father’s, and his eyes are the night-sky kind that seem to shine because they can’t help it.  His smile is as sweet as Roxanne’s, only the saddest I ever saw; and his hair mops in curls like Lovelace Peyton’s, only it is black, and he won’t let it.  This description could fit a great artist or a novelist or an orator, but he isn’t even any of these; he’s an inventor.

The invention has something to do with the pig iron out at the Cumberland Iron Furnaces that father owns in the Harpeth Valley, and Mr. Douglass works for him.  It turns it into steel sooner than anybody else has ever discovered how to do it before, and it is such a wonderful invention that it will make so much money for him and his family that they won’t know what to do with it.  Roxanne is going to tell me more about it to-morrow.

I didn’t say anything to keep Roxanne from being happy over her brother getting all that money, but it made me sad.  The more money you get the less happiness there seems to be on the market to buy.  All Father’s dollars couldn’t have bought me even one of those hugs around the neck from Roxanne—­I had to risk my life to get them.  And that’s where Lovelace Peyton and his badness come in.  I’m catching my breath as I think about it.

Mr. Douglass has a little shed down in the cottage garden boxed off to make his experiments in.  He keeps it locked up with a padlock, and has commanded that nobody is to go even near the door.  There is one big bottle that has some kind of nitroglycerin mixture in it that is going to blow the iron into steel while it is hot, he hopes.  Roxanne knows it because he showed it to her, and he told her if the cottage ever got on fire to run and get it and carry it carefully away first before it could blow up the town.  It must never be jolted in any way.  She has a key to the shed that she guards sacredly.

If there is one thing in the world that Lovelace Peyton wants worse than any other, it is bottles.  He takes every one he can find and just begs for more.  He has a place down by the garden wall, behind a chicken coop, where he makes his mixtures and keeps all the bottles.  He’s going to be a famous surgeon and doctor some day if he lives, which I now think is doubtful.

I was down in my garden on the other side of the wall from him picking some leaves off the lavender bushes Roxanne’s great-grandmother had planted in that lovely old garden, which is so full of Roxanne’s ancestral flowers that it grieves me to think I have to own them instead of her.  I haven’t been letting myself go down there often, because I was afraid she would suspect how much I wanted her to come out and talk to me like she did the day of Lovelace Peyton’s rooster excitement; but sometimes I think my dignity ought to let me go and pick just a little of the lavender, and I go.  I went this afternoon, and I believe God sent me and so does Roxanne.