passed into diminutives. There was, for example, Seth Crocker, whose wife explained that she called him Sethie "for short."  But Sethie's name was never pronounced with the same affectionate drawl that Willie's was. 

 No, Willie had his peculiar niche in Wilton and a very sacred niche it was. 

 What marvel, therefore, that Celestina reverenced the very earth which he trod and cheerfully put up with the strings, the wires, the spools, the tacks, and the pulleys; that she shifted the meals about to suit his convenience; and that when she was awakened at midnight by a rhythmic hammering which portended that the inventor had once again "got kitched with a new idee" she smiled indulgently in the darkness and instead of cursing the echoes that disturbed her slumber whispered to herself Jan Eldridge's oft-repeated prediction that the day would come when Willie Spence would astonish the scoffers of Wilton and would make his mark. 

 

 

 CHAPTER II 

 WILLIE HAS AN IDEE 

 On a day in June so clear that a sea gull loomed mammoth against the sky; a day when a sail against the horizon was visible for miles; a day when the whole world seemed swept and garnished as for a festival, Zenas Henry Brewster drew rein before the Spence cottage, hitched the Admiral to the picket fence that bordered the highway, and ascending the bank which sloped abruptly to the road presented himself at the kitchen door from which issued the aroma of baking bread. 

 "Mornin', Tiny," called the visitor, poking his head across the threshold.  "Willie anywheres about?" 

 Celestina, who was washing the breakfast dishes, glanced up at the lank figure with a start. 

 "Law, Zenas Henry, what a turn you gave me!" she exclaimed.  "I never heard a footfall. Yes, Willie's outside somewheres. He and Jan Eldridge have been tinkerin' with the pump since early mornin'. They've had it apart a hundred times, I guess, an' like as not they're round there now pullin' it to pieces for the hundred-an'-oneth." 

 Zenas Henry grinned. 

 "That's a queer to-do," he remarked.  "What's got all the pumps? Bewitched, I reckon. Ours ain't workin' fur a cent 

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