orstones;"
the August starlight, and the Lombardy poplars stirring in the soft wind,
and the cricket chirping in the grass, offered more companionship, he
thought, than he would find in his dark, silent library.

The little gentleman's mind wandered off to the different homes he knew;
they were so pleasant and cheerful. There was always something bright
about the rectory, and how small and cosy Henry Dale's study was. And how
pretty the Woodhouse girls' parlor looked! Mr. Denner was as slow to
recognize the fact that Miss Deborah and Miss Ruth were no longer young
as they were themselves. Just now he thought only of the home-life in
their old house, and the comfort, and the peace. What quiet, pleasant
voices the sisters had, and how well Miss Deborah managed, and how
delightfully Miss Ruth painted! How different his own life would have
been if Gertrude Drayton--Ah, well! The little gentleman sighed again,
and then, drawing his big key from his pocket, let himself into the
silent hall, and crept quietly up-stairs.

CHAPTER VI.

It did not take Gifford Woodhouse very long to get settled in Lockhaven.
His office and bedroom constituted his household, and Miss Deborah never
knew that her bags of lavender were not even taken out of the trunk, and
that the hard-featured Irishwoman who "came in by the day" never saw the
paper of directions, written, that she might be able to read it easily,
in Miss Deborah's small, neat hand.

But Miss Deborah was right in thinking Helen would look after his
comfort, and Gifford soon felt that his real "home" in Lockhaven was at
the parsonage, though he had not time to drop in half as often as the
master and mistress urged him to do.

He did not tell Helen of that talk with Lois, which had brought a soberer
look to his face than she had ever seen there. But she had noticed it,
and wondered at it, and she felt his reserve, too, in speaking of her
cousin; she even asked herself if he could have cared for Lois? But the
thought was too absurd. "Probably they've quarreled again," she said
regretfully, she never had been able to understand her cousin's
impatience with him.

Perhaps Gifford thought that she had an intuitive knowledge of the ache
there was in his heart when she talked of Lois, for he was comforted in
a vague way by the sympathetic look which was always on Helen's face when
she spoke to any one who seemed troubled. So he was glad to come to the
parsonage as often as he c