said a cheery voice. "I want to know if that's you!"

"Nobody else, Mr. Butters! What is the good word with you? Are you
coming in, or shall I--"

But Mr. Ithuriel Butters was already clambering down from his seat, and
now came up the garden walk carrying a parcel in his hand. An old man of
patriarchal height and build, with hair and beard to match. Dress him in
flowing robes or in armor of brass and you would have had Abraham or a
chief of the Maccabees, "'cordin' to," as he would have said. As it was,
he was Old Man Butters of the Butterses Lane Ro'd, Shellback.

He gave Doctor Stedman a mighty grip, and surveyed him with friendly
eyes.

"Wal, you've been in furrin parts sence I see ye. I expected you'd come
back some kind of outlandishman, but I don't see but you look as nat'ral
as nails in a door. Ben all over, hey? Seen the hull consarn?"

"Pretty near, Mr. Butters; I saw all I could hold, anyhow."

"See anything to beat the State of Maine?"

"I think not. No, certainly not."

"Take fall weather in the State of Maine," said Mr. Butters, slowly, his
eyes roving about the sunlit garden; "take it when it's good--when it
_is_ good--it's _good_, sometimes! Not but what I've thought myself I
should like to see furrin parts before I go. Don't want to appear
ignorant where I'm goin', you understand. Mis' Tree to home, I presume
likely?"

"Yes, she is at home, Mr. Butters, but I have an idea she is lying down
just now. Perhaps in half an hour--"

"Nothing of the sort!" said a voice like the click of castanets; and
here was Mrs. Tree again, pelisse, hat, stick, and all. Doctor Stedman
stared.

"How do you do, Ithuriel?" said Mrs. Tree, in a friendly tone, "I am
glad to see you. Sit down on the bench! You may sit down too, James, if
you like. What brings you in to-day, Ithuriel?"

"I brought some apples in for Blyths's folks," said Mr. Butters. "And I
brought you a present, Mis' Tree."

He untied his parcel, and produced a pair of large snowy wings.

"I ben killin' some gooses lately," he explained. "The woman allers
meant to send you in a pair o' wings for dusters, but she never got
round to it, so I thought I'd fetch 'em in now. They're kind o' handy
round a fireplace."

The wings were graciously accepted and praised.

"I was sorry to hear of your wife's death, Ithuriel," said Mrs. Tree. "I
am told she was a most excellent woman."

"Yes'm, she was!" said Mr. Butters, soberly. "She was a good woman and a