Tim in his protest started to mount the stairs, and there was an earnestness in his tone that made me think it high time he knew our secret, for his own sake and for Edith’s.  It seemed to me unfair of him to desert her so basely in the presence of an enemy.  He should have stood by her to the very end, and had he boldly declared that as compared to her Mary was a mummy I should have admired him the more; I should have understood; I should have known he was mistaken, but endured it.  Now I seized him by the coat and pulled him back.

“Tim,” I said solemnly, “I have something to tell you.”

My brother turned and gave me a startled look.

“Mary and I have something to tell you,” I went on.

That should have given him a clew.  I had expected that at this point he would embrace me.  But he didn’t.

“I suppose you think I’ve been a fool about Edith?” he muttered ruefully.

“No, it isn’t that,” I laughed.  “Mary, will you tell him?”

But we were in darkness!  She had dropped the candle, and down the stairs the stick came clattering.  It landed on the floor and went rolling across the room.  Tim made a dive for it.  He groped his way to the corner where its career had ended.  Then he lighted it again.

Behind us stood the doctor, and Mrs. Tip Pulsifer, and Elmer Spiker’s much better half.  Mary was at the head of the stairs.

“Come, Tim,” she called.  “Mr. Weston wants to see you.”

“Weston does want to see you very much, Tim,” the wounded man said smiling, lifting a thin hand from the bed for my brother; “I heard you chattering downstairs, and I thought you were never coming.”

“It was Mary’s fault,” Tim said.  “I came back as soon as I could, sir.  Mr. Mills sent me up on the night train—­out this afternoon in a livery rig—­here afoot just as fast as Mark would let me—­then Mary blocked the way.  Mark was going to tell me something when she dropped the candle.”

“Why, don’t you know—­” began Weston.

But over my brother’s shoulders I shook my head sternly at him and he stopped and broke into a laugh.

Mrs. Elmer Spiker was standing by him; the young doctor was moving about the room, apparently very busy; Mrs. Tip Pulsifer was peeping in at the door.

“Didn’t you know,” said Weston, “how I’d shot myself all to pieces, and how there’s a live fox in the hollows across the ridge?”

“Mark told me of it,” answered the innocent Tim, “and I’m glad to find it is not serious.  They were worried at the store.  Mr. Mills was for coming right away, but we got word you were better, and he thought I should run up anyway for a day to see if we could do anything.  I’m to go back to-morrow.”

“It was good of you to come,” Weston said, “but there is nothing to be done.  Just tell Mills the whole valley is nursing me; tell him that I’ve one nurse alone who is worth a score.”  Mrs. Spiker looked very conscious, but Weston smiled at Mary.  Then he quickly added:  “Tell him that Mrs. Bolum and Mrs. Spiker and Mrs. Pulsifer—­” he paused to make sure that none was missed—­“and Mark here are a hospital corps, taken singly or in a body.”