rved, by this time, that I pride myself somewhat on my penetration
and keen insight into the character of those with whom the extensive
business of my office throws me often in contact. Yes, you must have
discovered, by this time, that I am a superior judge of human nature, by
the perusal of the spicy editorials which have made the Waveland Clarion
widely known and feared, as well as respected. As one of the admirers of
my peculiar genius remarked, to the confusion of another of the
editorial fraternity, it takes Philemon W. Strain to hit off the follies
and weaknesses of mankind with his humorous pen. But if it is often his
duty to condemn, it is sometimes, also, his privilege to admire, as you
cannot have failed to notice within the past few weeks."

Clemence acknowledged the implied compliment, and hastened to change the
subject. She was glad to behold, in the distance, the lights gleaming
from the Brier cottage, and hurried forward, the sooner to be rid of her
not altogether welcome company. Mrs. Brier chanced to be standing in the
front door, as they came up.

"Good evening, Miss Graystone," she said. "Why, Mr. Strain," in a tone
of affected surprise, "who would have thought of seeing _you_. Come
right in, both of you."

"Thank you," said the gentleman, confusedly. "I believe I will walk on,
as I have an engagement for this evening." Raising his hat to the
ladies, he strode away with a majestic tread. Clemence breathed a sigh
of relief, as she followed the spare figure of her hostess into the
house.

"You must be tired," said that lady, "sit in the rocking chair and rest
yourself. Johnny," to a pale, sharp featured child, "come and bid the
schoolmistress good evening."

The child came shyly up to the young teacher, and, as she held out her
hand, seemed re-assured by her kindly smile.

"I suppose you know it ain't none of ourn," said Mrs. Brier, "its only a
boy we took to bring up. Nobody knows who his parents be. Brier got him
at the foundling hospital when he went to sell his wheat to the city. He
wasn't but two years old then, but he's ten now, and a great, big, lazy,
idle, good-for-nothing boy, that'll never begin to pay for his keepin'.
I never wanted the young 'un around, but Brier said he'd come handy
by-and-by, and save a man's wages; so as we never had any of our own, we
thought we'd keep him. Children are an awful sight of trouble. This one
has been such a trial. He has got such a terrible temper, an