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 "I was goin' to say that wife an' me had best know more about this right away, Mr. Touchtone," said Obed, slowly. "It's pretty queer. If we're to do you any good, or, rather, not hurt your plans, you might post us a little further."

"Exactly," Philip replied. "You shall know whatever I can tell you as quickly as I can tell it."

So, for two hours, while Gerald was in dream-land, the "posting" continued. Philip told his story, but not that part of his family history that was hard to narrate to new friends. He answered frankly the many questions that their sympathy prompted. Once clear in their minds, neither Obed nor Mrs. Probasco doubted the story's truth.

"You needn't say more, to-night at least, Mr. Touchtone," said Obed, at last; "we've heard enough—haint we, Loreta? Your story an' mine run about as close as stories could—more's the pity. The weather's likely to be rough to-morrow, an' my rheumatics may keep me from getting across till next day. I shall be terrible sorry if I'm not better. I wish I wasn't alone. I'm pretty sure you're fairly