as honored in their place. The tears came into her eyes. It
was only this afternoon that she had experienced a pang of self-reproach
to realize how near happiness she was--as near as her temperament could
approach. But somehow the air was so soft; she could see from where she
sat how the white velvet buds of the aspen-trees in the dooryard had
lengthened into long, cream-tinted, furry tassels; the maples on the
mountain-side lifted their red flowering boughs against the delicate
blue sky; the grass was so green; the golden candlesticks bunched along
the margin of the path to the rickety gate were all a-blossoming. The
sweet appeal of spring had never been more insistent, more coercive.
Somehow peace, and a placid content, seemed as essential incidents in
the inner life as the growth of the grass anew, the bursting of the bud,
or the soft awakening of the zephyr. Even within the house, the languors
of the fire drowsing on the hearth, the broad bar of sunshine across
the puncheon floor, so slowly creeping away, the sense of the vernal
lengthening of the pensive afternoon, the ever-flitting shadow of the
wren building under the eaves, and its iterative gladsome song breaking
the fireside stillness, partook of the serene beatitude of the season
and the hour. The visitor's drawling voice rose again, and she was not
now constrained to reproach herself that she was too happy.

"Yes'm, pore though we war then--an' we couldn't look forward ter the
Lord's prosperin' us some sence--we never would hev lef the precious
leetle lam'"--his voice dwelt with unvanquished emphasis upon the
obnoxious words--"'mongst enny but them persumed ter be godly folks.
Tyler war a toler'ble good soldier in the war, an' hed a good name in
the church, but _ye_ war persumed to be a plumb special Christian with
no pledjure in this worl'."

Laurelia winced anew. This repute of special sanctity was the pride of
her ascetic soul. Few of the graces of life or of the spirit had she
coveted, but her pre-eminence as a religionist she had fostered and
cherished, and now through her own deeds of charity it seemed about to
be wrested from her.

"Lee-yander Yerby hev larnt nuthin' but good in this house, an' all my
neighbors will tell you the same word. The Cove 'lows I hev been _too_
strict."

Nehemiah was glancing composedly about the room. "That thar 'pears
ter be a fiddle on the wall, ain't it, Mis' Sudley?" he said, with an
incidental air and the manner of