She brushed the tears from her eyes.  Poor Jed, miserable and most unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair.  “I—­I don’t know,” he faltered.  “I declare I don’t see how.  Er—­er—­ Out in that bank where he used to work, that Wisconsin bank, he—­ you said he did first-rate there?”

She started.  “Yes, yes,” she cried, eagerly.  “Oh, he was splendid there!  And the man who was the head of that bank when Charles was there is an old friend of ours, of the family; he has retired now but he would help us if he could, I know.  I believe . . .  I wonder if . . .  Mr. Winslow, I can’t tell any one in Orham of our disgrace and I can’t bear to give up that opportunity for my brother.  Will you leave it to me for a little while?  Will you let me think it over?”

Of course Jed said he would and went back to his little room over the shop.  As he was leaving she put out her hand and said, with impulsive earnestness: 

“Thank you, Mr. Winslow.  Whatever comes of this, or if nothing comes of it, I can never thank you enough for your great kindness.”

Jed gingerly shook the extended hand and fled, his face scarlet.

During the following week, although he saw his neighbors each day, and several times a day, Mrs. Armstrong did not mention her brother or the chance of his employment in the Orham bank.  Jed, very much surprised at her silence, was tempted to ask what her decision was, or even if she had arrived at one.  On one occasion he threw out a broad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady changed the subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she made it a point of avoiding that subject and was anxious that he should avoid it, also.  He was sure she had not abandoned the idea which, at first, had so excited her interest and raised her hopes.  She seemed to him to be still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act as if under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to leave the affair to her, to let her think it over, so of course he could do or say nothing until she had spoken.  But he wondered and speculated a good deal and was vaguely troubled.  When Captain Sam Hunniwell called he did not again refer to his possible candidate for the position now held by Luther Small.  And, singularly enough, the captain himself did not mention the subject.

But one morning almost two weeks after Jed’s discussion with the young widow she and Captain Hunniwell came into the windmill shop together.  Mrs. Armstrong’s air of excitement was very much in evidence.  Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled, her manner animated.  Her landlord had never seen her look so young, or, for that matter, so happy.

Captain Sam began the conversation.  He, too, seemed to be in high good humor.

“Well, Jedidah Wilfred Shavin’s’,” he observed, facetiously, “what do you suppose I’ve got up my sleeve this mornin’?”

Jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening.