course it brings back old days."

She sighed, her dark, comely face clouding with sorrow.

"You know," she went on, turning confidentially to Lydia, "that
dreadful bank failure was the real cause of my poor husband's death.
He never held up his head after that. They suspected at first he was
implicated in the steal. But Mr. Dix wasn't anything like Andrew
Bolton. No; indeed! He wouldn't have taken a cent that belonged to
anybody else--not if he was to die for it!"

"That's so," confirmed Mrs. Dodge. "What Andrew Bolton got was
altogether too good for him. Come right down to it, he wasn't no
better than a murderer!"

And she nodded her head emphatically.

Fanny and Ellen, who stood looking on, reddened impatiently at this:

"I'm sick and tired of hearing about Andrew Bolton," complained
Ellen. "I've heard nothing else since I can remember. It's a pity you
bought this house, Miss Orr: I heard Mr. Elliot say it was like
stirring up a horrid, muddy pool. Not very complimentary to
Brookville; but then--"

"Don't you think people will--forget after a while?" asked Lydia, her
blue eyes fixed appealingly on the two young faces. "I don't see why
everybody should--"

"Well, if you'd fixed the house entirely different," said Mrs. Dix.