"Why," returned Mr. Higgins, "there ain't no trouble about it now. Goin' to tell him that if the Patriarch can't help him there ain't nobody on earth can—thought of mentionin' your name, too."
"By all means," assented Madison cordially. "I feel like a new man since I've come here. I only wish more people knew about the Patriarch—it makes your heart ache to think of the suffering and sickness that people endure so hopelessly when there isn't any need of it."
"Yes, so it do," said Mr. Higgins. He picked up the reins. "So it do," he said heartily.
Madison watched the democrat as it started off behind the ambling horse—watched with a sort of fascination at the inebriate, sideways stagger of the wheels, a sort of wonder that the rear ones didn't shut up like a jack-knife under the body of the vehicle and the democrat promptly sit down on its tail-board; then, smiling, he walked back into the cottage. The Patriarch was still sitting in the armchair beside the table. Madison halted before the other.
"Well," said he confidentially to the Patriarch, "that's settled and I don't mind admitting that it's a load off my mind. I hate to think of what we'd have done without Hiram Higgins—in fact, it distresses me to think of it. Let us think of something else. Day after to-morrow Helena 'll be along. Helena is the one and only—but you'll find that out for yourself. I don't mind telling you though that she wears a number two
