neighbours: Dormer, Hamblin, Creston and Creston River. She knew them
all, mere lost clusters of houses in the folds of the desolate ridges:
Dormer, where North Dormer went for its apples; Creston River, where
there used to be a paper-mill, and its grey walls stood decaying by the
stream; and Hamblin, where the first snow always fell. Such were their
titles to fame.

She got up and began to move about vaguely before the shelves. But she
had no idea where she had last put the book, and something told her that
it was going to play her its usual trick and remain invisible. It was
not one of her lucky days.

"I guess it's somewhere," she said, to prove her zeal; but she spoke
without conviction, and felt that her words conveyed none.

"Oh, well----" he said again. She knew he was going, and wished more
than ever to find the book.

"It will be for next time," he added; and picking up the volume he had
laid on the desk he handed it to her. "By the way, a little air and sun
would do this good; it's rather valuable."

He gave her a nod and smile, and passed out.




II