ne!"

The smallish man in the Guy Fawkes hat and the old, ultra-genteel,
greenish gaiters, walked towards them with his resinous bold eyes to the
front, his nose informing him of what was in the air like any silken
terrier's, and yet with a pallor of the skin as of a sick person's, and
less than his daily expression of hostility to Princess Anne.

"He's got the ager," remarked Levin Dennis, "them's the shakes, comin'
on him by to-morrey, ef I know tarrapin bubbles!"

The latter end only of the nearest approach to profanity current in that
land was again heard, fluttering around: "to _save_ my life!"

Jimmy Phoebus had the name of being descended from a Greek pirate, or
patriot, who had settled on the Eastern Shore, and Phoebus looked it
yet, with his rich brown complexion, broad head, and Mediterranean eyes.
"Good-afternoon, Mr. Milburn!" spoke Jimmy, loud and careless.

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Phoebus. Gentlemen, good-afternoon!"

As he responded, with a voice hardly genial but placating, Milburn
lifted his ancient and formidable hat, and in an instant seemed to come
a century nearer to his neighbors. His stature was reduced, his
unsociableness seemed modified; he now looked to be a smallish,
friendless person, as if some ownerless dog had darted through the
street, and heard a kind chirp at the tavern door, where his reception
had been stones. His voice, with a little tremor in it, emboldened Levin
Dennis also to speak:

"Look out for fevernager this month, Mr. Milburn!"

Meshach bowed his head, gliding along as if bashfully anxious to pass.

"Nice weather for drivin'!" added Jack Wonnell, having also taken off
his own tile of frivolity, to feel the effect; but this remark was
regarded by the group as too forward, and a low chorus ran round of
"Jack Wonnell can't help bein' a fool to save his life!"

Milburn said to himself, passing on: "Are those voices kinder than
usually, or am I more timid? What is it in the air that makes everything
so acute, and my cheeks to tingle? Am I sick, or is it Love?"

The word frightened him, and the sand under his feet seemed to crack; a
woodpecker in an old tree tapped as if it was the tree's old heart
quickened by something; the houses all around looked like live objects,
with their windows fixed upon his walk, like married folks' eyes. As he
came in sight of Judge Custis's residence, so expressive of old respect
and long intentions, the money-lender almost stopped, so mild a