"Jim," observed Miss Macy, shortly, "in my opinion, knows nothing more
than his note says. That's like Jim."

"There's nothing more to know, really," said Mrs. Bradley, with a
superior air. "He's undoubtedly the son of some Englishman of fortune,
sent out here for his health."

"Hush!"

Miss Macy had heard a step in the passage. It halted at last, half
irresolutely, before the open door of the kitchen, and the stranger
appeared with an embarrassed air.

But in his brief absence he seemed to have completely groomed himself,
and stood there, the impersonation of close-cropped, clean, and
wholesome English young manhood. The two women appreciated it with
cat-like fastidiousness.

"I beg your pardon; but really you're going to let a fellow do something
for you," he said, "just to keep him from looking like a fool. I really
can do no end of things, you know, if you'll try me. I've done some
camping-out, and can cook as well as the next man."

The two women made a movement of smiling remonstrance, half coquettish,
and half superior, until Mrs. Bradley, becoming conscious of her bare
arms and the stranger's wandering eyes, colored faintly, and said with
more decision:--

"Certainly not. You'd only be in the way. Besides, you need rest more