"Indeed." The girl spoke very quietly. "And, perhaps, Tim, you'll
send Edith along to help us. We women of Black Log are so clumsy."

"A good idea," said Weston. "Capital. You must bring Miss Smyth up,
too, Tim."

"Parker," I corrected, "Edith Parker."

"But is it Parker?" Weston appealed to my brother. "Mark tells me
she's the book-keeper's daughter. Has old Smyth gone?"

"No," Tim stammered, very much confused. "I guess you don't know
Parker. He's come lately."

"That explains it, then," said Weston.

But he turned and looked away from us, his brow knitted. Something
seemed to puzzle him, for he was frowning, but by and by the old
cynical smile came back.

He said suddenly: "Tim, I wish you luck. I'm glad anyway it isn't
Smyth's daughter. That was what I couldn't understand. Ever see
Smyth's daughter? No. Well, you needn't bemoan it. I dare say Miss
Parker is all you picture her, and I hope you'll win."

"Don't you think you'd better rest now?" asked Tim, with sudden
solicitation. Though he addressed himself to Weston, his eyes were
appealing to the doctor.