hat's why I never go to church. It doesn't
soothe me as it ought to; I fall too easily into the habit of pulling
my neighbor's mind into pieces. Gossip and weddings and funerals; your
reputation in shreds, your best girl married, your best friend dead. I
find myself nearer Heaven when I'm alone in the fields. But I've been
thinking, Aunty."

"About what?"

"About coming home to stay."

"Oh, Richard, if you only would!" sitting beside him and folding him
in her arms. "I'm so lonely. There's only you and I; all the others
I've loved are asleep on the hill. Do come home, Richard; you're all I
have."

"I'm thinking it over."

Here the Angora came in cautiously. She saw Jove and the dog saw her;
fur and hair bristled. Jove looked at his master beseechingly--"Say
the word, Dick, say the word, and I'll give you an entertainment." But
the word did not come.

"There's your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other.
In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the ways
of the beast."

"I'm afraid your dog's a traitor."

"A traitor?"

"Yes. Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons' and stays all
night. I don't see why he should."

"Maybe they pet him over there. Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes,
just like human beings when they're lonely. If you petted him once in
a while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would be
tickled to death."

"But I'm kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy. I'd pet
him, too, but I'm afraid of him. I'm always afraid of dogs. Besides,
his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks to
everything."

"Who is his latest love?"

"Patty Bennington. They go out riding together. I can always tell, for
his stomach is invariably caked with dried mud."

"Patty Bennington? The old dog shows good taste. And I had forgotten
all about Bennington's having a sister. I was thunderstruck when I met
her the other week in New York. I had really forgotten her. She is
charming."

"She is a dear young girl. Ah, Richard, if only you would find some
one like her."

"Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I'm going to wait till I get
there. But I'll think it over about coming home to stay."

"I'll be so happy!" the old lady cried. "I'm going right out into the
kitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to rave
over."

She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleep
from his arms and legs, an