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Miss Maggie wished, too, that Mr. Smith would not bring flowers and candy so often. It worried her. She felt as if he were spending too much money—and she had got the impression in some way that he did not have any too much money to spend. And there were the expensive motor trips, too—she feared Mr. Smith WAS extravagant. Yet she could not tell him so, of course. He never seemed to realize the value of a dollar, anyway, and he very obviously did not know how to get the most out of it. Look at his foolish generosity in regard to the board he paid her!

Miss Maggie wondered sometimes if it might not be worry over money matters that was making him so nervous and irritable on occasions now. Plainly he was very near the end of his work there in Hillerton. He was not getting so many letters on Blaisdell matters from away, either. For a month now he had done nothing but a useless repetition of old work; and of late, a good deal of the time, he was not even making that pretense of being busy. For days at a time he would not touch his records. That could mean but one thing, of course; his work was done. Yet he seemed to be making no move toward departure. Not that she wanted him to go. She should miss him very much when he went, of course. But she did not like to feel that he was staying simply because he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Miss Maggie did not believe in able-bodied men who had nowhere to go and nothing to do—and she wanted very much to believe in Mr. Smith.

She had been under the impression that he was getting the Blaisdell material together for a book, and that he was intending to publish it himself. He had been very happy and interested. Now he was unhappy and uninterested. His book must be ready, but he was making no move to publish it. To Miss Maggie this could mean but one thing: some financial reverses had made it impossible for him to carry out his plans, and had left him stranded with no definite aim for the future.

She was so sorry!—but there seemed to be nothing that she could do. She HAD tried to help by insisting that he pay less for his board; but he had not only scouted that idea, but had brought her more chocolates and flowers than ever—for all the world as if he had divined her suspicions and wished to disprove them.

That Mr. Smith was trying to keep something from her, Miss Maggie was sure. She was the more sure, perhaps, because she herself had something that she was trying to keep from Mr. Smith—and she thought she recognized the symptoms.

Meanwhile April budded into May, and May blossomed into June; and June brought all the Blaisdells together again in Hillerton.

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Two days after Fred Blaisdell had returned from college, his mother came to see Miss Maggie. Mr. Smith was rearranging the books on Miss Maggie's shelves and trying to make room for the new ones he had brought her through the winter. When Mrs. Hattie came in, red-eyed and flushed-faced, he ceased his work at once and would have left the room, but she stopped him with a gesture.

"No, don't go. You know all about it, anyway,—and I'd just as soon you knew the rest. So you can keep right to work. I just came down to talk things over with Maggie. I—I'm sure I don't know w-what I'm going to do—when I can't."

"But you always can, dear," soothed Miss Maggie cheerily, handing her visitor a fan and taking a chair near her.

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Mr. Smith, after a moment's hesitation, turned quietly back to his bookshelves.

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"But I can't," choked Mrs. Hattie. "I—I'm going away."

"Away? Where? What do you mean?" cried Miss Maggie. "Not to—live!"

"Yes. That's what I came to tell you."

"Why, Hattie Blaisdell, where are you going?"