“I will go,” Lucy replied, in a hoarse whisper.

Meeks looked keenly at her.  “Now, Lucy,” he said, in a gentle voice, “there’s no use; you’ve got to go home.”

“Yes,” said Henry.  “Go home to your ma, right away, like a good girl.”

Lucy remained motionless.  Her poor young eyes seemed to see nothing.

“Good Lord!” sighed Meeks, wiping his forehead with his disengaged hand.  “Well, come along, Lucy.  Now, Lucy, you don’t want to make a spectacle of yourself on the street.  I think we must go home with you, because I can see right in your eyes that you won’t budge a step unless we make you, but we don’t want to walk holding on to you.  So now you just march along ahead, and we’ll keep behind you, and we won’t have all the town up in arms.”

Lucy said nothing.  Meeks wiped his forehead again, freed her, and gave her a gentle shove between her shoulders.  “Now, march,” said he.

Lucy began to walk; the two men kept behind her.  Presently they met a boy, who evidently noticed nothing unusual, for he leaped past, whistling.

“Thank the Lord it isn’t far,” muttered Meeks, wiping his forehead.  “It’s d—­n hot.”

Lucy walked on quite rapidly after awhile.  They were nearly in sight of her home when Mrs. Ayres met them.  She was almost running, and was pale and out of breath.

“Lucy,” she began, “where—?” Then she realized that Meeks and Henry were with the girl.

“Henry, you just keep an eye on her,” said Meeks.  Then he spoke to Mrs. Ayres with old-fashioned ceremony.  “Madam,” he said, “will you be so kind as to step aside?  I have a word I would like to say to you.”

Mrs. Ayres, with a scared glance at Lucy, complied.

“Just this way a moment,” he said.  “Now, madam, I have a word of advice which you are at liberty to take or not.  Your daughter seems to be in a dangerously nervous state.  I will tell you plainly where we found her.  It seems that Mr. Allen and Miss Fletcher have fallen in love with each other, and have come to an understanding.  We happened upon them, sitting together very properly, as lovers should, in the apple orchard back of Mr. Whitman’s, and your daughter stood there watching them.  She is very nervous.  If you take my advice you will lose no time in getting her away.”

Mrs. Ayres stood and listened with a cold, pale dignity.  She waited until Meeks had entirely finished, then she spoke slowly and evenly.

“Thank you, Mr. Meeks,” she said.  “Your advice is very good, so good that I have proved it by anticipating you.  My daughter is in a very nervous condition.  She never fully recovered from a severe attack of the grip.”

Mrs. Ayres lied, and Meeks respected her for it.

“We are to start before long for St. Louis, where my brother lives,” continued Mrs. Ayres.  “I am going to rent my house furnished.  My brother is a widower, and wishes us to make our home with him, and we may never return here.  I was obliged to go on an errand to the store, and when I came home I missed Lucy and was somewhat anxious.  I am very much obliged to you.  We are going away, and I have no doubt that an entire change of scene will restore my daughter entirely.  Yesterday she had a sick headache, and is still suffering somewhat from it to-day.”