"Oh, I could stand the biscuit, so long as they're not health
biscuit," laughed Mr. Smith genially. "You see, I've been living on
those and hot water quite long enough as it is."

"Oh, ain't your health good, sir?" The little dressmaker's face wore
the deepest concern.

"Well, it's better than it was, thank you. I think I can promise to be
a good boarder, all right."

"Why don't you go to a hotel?" Mrs. James D. Blaisdell still spoke
with a slightly injured air.

Mr. Smith lifted a deprecatory hand.

"Oh, indeed, that would not do at all--for my purpose," he murmured.
"I wish to be very quiet. I fear I should find it quite disturbing--
the noise and confusion of a public place like that. Besides, for my
work, it seemed eminently fitting, as well as remarkably convenient,
if I could make my home with one of the Blaisdell family."

With a sudden exclamation the little dressmaker sat erect.

"Say, Harriet, how funny we never thought! He's just the one for poor
Maggie! Why not send him there?"

"Poor Maggie?" It was the mild voice of Mr. Smith.

"Our sister--yes. She lives--"