itting up and leaning his arms upon his
knees, the laughter still glimmering in his gray eyes, "I could give you
a proverb,--unless they are twins?"

Mr. Denner sat down again on the stone bench, and looked at him eagerly.

"No, Gifford, they are not twins,--no. There is a good ten years between
them."

"Then," said the young man, "what does your friend want better than 'Age
before beauty'? Let him propose to the elder."

Mr. Denner laid his rod down upon the grass, and, rising, extended his
hand to his companion.

"Gifford," he said, "you are an intelligent young man,--a remarkable
young man, sir. I knew it when I determined to ask your advice--for my
friend. I thank you. My--my friend thanks you, Gifford. He will act upon
this at once; he is forever indebted to you, sir."

It was all so solemn that Gifford's gravity lasted until the little
gentleman had disappeared through the hedge, and was far down the road;
then he hid his face in the grass, and laughed aloud.

But Mr. Denner was happy. He fairly beamed as he walked along,
repeating the proverb to himself. "Yes," he said, "nothing could be
better--nothing. How strange that it has not occurred to me before, or
that Henry should not have thought of it! 'Age before beauty!' Yes, just
so,--just so!"

While he was meditating thus happily, he heard behind him that curious,
irregular beat which only the hoofs of a runaway horse can make, and the
whirl of flying wheels swinging from side to side. He sprang to one side
of the road, his little heart pounding with sudden fright, and looked
back to see the rectory phaeton, reeling and almost overturning, dragged
madly at the heels of the shaggy little pony. They came flying toward
him. Mr. Denner caught a glimpse, through the cloud of dust, of Lois
Howe's white face, and a shrinking figure clinging to her. A gray veil
fluttered across the face, so that Mr. Denner could not tell who it was,
but instantly it flashed through his mind, "It is one of them!" He threw
down his basket and rod, and braced himself for the shock of the
encounter with the plunging horse; his little nerves, never very firm,
were strung like steel. Somehow, in that instant of waiting, the proverb
was forgotten; he felt that fate would decide for him. "It shall be this
one!" he said aloud,--"this one!" Then the horse seemed upon him; he did
not know when he made that jump at the bridle, or felt the iron hoof
strike his breast; he had only a confused