CHAPTER X A TROUBLING OF THE WATERS

NE evening in late June Mrs. Will- ' iamson was sitting by her kitchen window. Her knitting lay un-

heeded in her lap, and Timothy, though he nestled ingratiatingly against her foot as he lay on the rug and purred his loudest, was unregarded. She rested her face on her hand and looked out of the window, across the distant harbour, with troubled eyes.

“ I guess I must speak,” she thought wistfully. “ I hate to do it. I always did hate meddling. My mother always used to say that ninety—nine times out of a hundred the last state of a meddler and them she meddled with was worse than the first. But I guess it’s my duty. I was Margaret’s friend, and it is my duty

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