its drab gaiter swinging across his knee, he played
mournfully and shrilly in the twilight, until it was time to start.

He saw the Misses Woodhouse trotting toward the rectory, with Sarah
walking in a stately way behind them, swinging her unlighted lantern, and
cautioning them not to step in the mud. But he made no effort to join
them; it was happiness enough to contemplate the approaching solution of
his difficulties, and say to himself triumphantly, "This time to-morrow!"
and he began joyously to play, "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,"
rendering carefully all the quavers in that quavering air.

Mr. Denner's meditations made him late at the rectory, and he felt Mrs.
Dale look sternly at him; so he made haste to deal, sitting well forward
in his chair, under which he tucked his little feet, and putting down
each card with nervous care. His large cuffs almost hid his small, thin
hands, and now and then he paused to rub his thumb and forefinger
together, that the cards might not stick.

But Mr. Denner did not play well that night; Miss Deborah looked at him
with mild reproach, and was almost angry when he answered her with an
absent smile.

The evening seemed very long to Mr. Denner, and even when the party had
said "Good-night" Mr. Dale was slow about getting off; he put his wife
into the carriage, and then stopped to ask Dr. Howe if he had the first
edition of "Japhet in Search of a Father"?

"In search of a father!" Mr. Denner thought, as he stood waiting by the
steps,--"how can he be interested in that?"

At last the front door closed, and Mr. Dale and Mr. Denner walked
silently down the lane in the starlight, the lawyer's little heart
beating so with excitement, that he had a suffocated feeling, and once
or twice put his hand to his throat, as though to loosen his muffler.

Mr. Dale, still absorbed in his first edition, took swinging strides, the
tails of his brown cloth overcoat flapping and twisting about his long,
thin legs. Mr. Denner had now and then almost to break into a trot to
keep up with him.

Mr. Dale walked with his hands clasped behind him, and his stick under
his arm; his soft felt hat was pulled down over his eyes, so that his
keeping the path was more by chance than sight. He stopped once to pluck
a sprig from the hawthorn hedge, to put between his lips. This gave Mr.
Denner breath, and a chance to speak.

"I think I will walk home with you, Henry," he said. "I want to have a
talk with