in--are we, Penelope?"

The color shot high on Penelope's cheeks as she laughingly assented,
and I flattered myself that she had forgotten the boor who a few
moments before had shown to such disadvantage under Mrs. Bannister's
critical eye.

"You must come to us often," Rufus Blight pursued. "I shall be glad to
see you any time. It is good to have an old friend about when time
hangs so heavily on one's hands as it does on mine. Never go out of
business, David. Take warning from me, and don't let yourself be
stranded, with nothing to do but to play golf. Golf is a poor
occupation. I was out to-day--couldn't find a soul around the
club--had to take on the professional--spoiled my score by getting into
the brook on the tenth hole, and came home utterly miserable and
dissatisfied with life. But when you get well wetted you appreciate
the kitchen stove, as old Bill Hansen, in our town, used to say--eh,
Mrs. Bannister?"

From this I surmised that Mr. Blight as well as the ball had gone into
the brook, and in the homely aphorism I divined a subtle purpose to
bait Mrs. Bannister, which showed an astonishing courage in so
mild-mannered a little man. Such was the awe in which I held Mrs.
Bannister that I could have loved any one who dared in her presence to
acknowledge an acquaintance with old Bill Hansen. If Mrs. Bannister
did disapprove, she was careful not to show it. Her lips parted in a
half smile and she observed to me that Mr. Blight had a jovial way of
quoting Mr. Hansen, as though Mr. Hansen were his dearest friend.

"He is," declared Mr. Blight. "To be sure, I haven't seen him for
years, but I always remember him as the wisest man I ever knew. Why,
if it wasn't for Penelope I should go back to the valley, just to be
near him. It would be better than golf--to sit with him on the store
porch on a sunny day listening to the mill rumbling by the creek and
the killdee whistling in the meadow, to watch the shadows crawl along
the mountains, and now and then to hear Bill Hansen say something.
That would be living--eh, David?"

Rufus Blight touched a train of thought which had been often in my
mind. Here was a man who had won in the great fight and he seemed to
be camping now on the field which he had taken. About him were the
spoils--the Reynolds, the fireplace, the perfectly bound books, and the
costly spaces of the great room. Yet he was voicing the same longing
that I, whose fight was just beginning, h