t then, drifting through the twilight and the mist, came the
sound of a bell, the bell of the Regular church, ringing for the Sunday
evening meeting. They both heard it.

"Oh!" exclaimed Grace, "that is your bell. You will be late. You must
go, and so must I. Good night."

She started down the path. He hesitated, then ran after her.

"To-morrow?" he questioned eagerly. "Tomorrow, then, you'll say that you
will?"

"Oh, perhaps, perhaps! I mustn't promise. Good night."

It was after seven when Grace reached the old tavern. The housekeeper,
Mrs. Poundberry, was anxiously awaiting her. She wore her bonnet and
Sunday gown and was evidently ready to go out.

"Land sakes alive!" she sputtered. "Where in the name of goodness have
you been to? I was gettin' scairt. Didn't know but you'd run off and got
married, or sunthin' dreadful."

Grace was thankful that the cloudy twilight made it impossible to see
her face distinctly. The housekeeper rattled on without waiting for an
answer.

"Supper's on the table and the kittle's abilin'. You better eat in a
hurry, 'cause it's meetin' time now. Your uncle, he started ten minutes
ago. I'm agoin' right along, too, but I ain't goin' to meetin'; I'm
agoin' up to Betsy E.'s to stay all night. She's got a spine in her
back, as the feller said, and ain't feelin' good, so I told her I'd come
and stay a little spell. S'pose you can get along to-morrow without me?"

"Betsy E." was Mrs. Poundberry's second cousin, an elderly spinster
living alone in a little house near the salt works. Grace assured her
questioner that she could attend to the house and the meals during the
following day, longer if the troublesome "spine" needed company. Mrs.
Poundberry sighed, groaned, and shook her head.

"I shan't stay no longer," she affirmed; "not if Betsy's all over
spines, like one of them Mexican cactus plants. No, marm, my place is
right here and I know it. Your Uncle Eben's mighty feeble and peaked
lately. He ain't long for this world, I'm afraid. You'd ought to be
awful good to him, Gracie."

"I know it," was the hurried reply. "Where's Nat?"

"I don't know. Can't keep track of HIM. Might's well try to put your
finger on a flea. He's here to-day and gone yesterday, as the Scriptur'
says. He ate a little mite of supper, but not much, and then off he
puts. Says he's goin' to walk the fog out'n his head. I told him, s' I,
'You'll walk a plaguey sight more in than you do out, THIS night,'
but he