Mr. E. Holliday and his doings were still East Wellmouth’s favorite conversational topics.  The great man was preparing to close his summer house and return to New York.  His family had already gone—­to Lenox, where they were to remain for a few weeks and then journey to Florida.  E. Holliday remained, several of the servants remaining with him, but he, too, was to go very soon.  There were rumors that he remained because of other schemes concerning his new estate.  Just what those schemes were no one seemed to know.  If John Kendrick knew he told no one, not even Emily Howes.

But E. Holliday himself disclosed his plan and it was to Thankful Barnes that he did so.  He called at the High Cliff House one afternoon and asked to see its proprietor.  Thankful was a trifle flustered.  It was the first call which her wealthy neighbor had made upon her, and she could not understand why he came at this late date.

“For mercy sakes, come into the livin’-room with me, Emily,” she begged.  “I shan’t know how to act in the face of all that money.”

Emily was much amused.  “I never knew you to be frightened of money before, Auntie,” she said.  “I thought you were considering borrowing some of this very—­ahem—­personage.”

“Maybe I was, though I cal’late I should have took it out in consideration; I never would have gone to him and asked.  But now the—­what do you call it?—­personage—­come to me for somethin’, the land knows what.”

“Perhaps he wants to borrow.”

“Humph!  Perhaps he does.  Well, then, he’s fishin’ in the wrong puddle.  Emily Howes, stop laughin’ and makin’ jokes and come into that livin’-room same as I ask you to.”

But this Emily firmly declined to do.  “He’s not my caller, Auntie,” she said.  “He didn’t even ask if I were in.”

So Thankful went into the living-room alone to meet the personage.  And she closed all doors behind her.  “If you won’t help you shan’t listen,” she declared.  “And I don’t know’s I’ll tell you a word after he’s gone.”

The call was a long one.  It ended in an odd way.  Emily, sitting by the dining-room window, heard the front door slam and, looking out, saw Mr. Kendrick stalking down the path, a frown on his face and outraged dignity in his bearing.  A moment later Thankful burst into the dining-room.  Her cheeks were flushed and she looked excited and angry.

“What do you think that—­that walkin’ money-bag came here for?” she demanded.  “He came here to tell me I’d got to sell this place to him.  Yes, sell it to him, ’cause he wanted it.  It didn’t seem to make any difference what I wanted.  Well, it will make a difference, I tell you that!”