a measure, her sense of enjoyment, and substituted for the
burden of defeat the exultation of expression, however faulty and
however limited. But like other moods, this one was temporary; and as
she retraced her steps and turned into the village street, she felt
again the lassitude which follows the extinction of hope and the
inexorable narrowing of the horizon which she had fancied extended.

It was usual for her at this hour to stop at the tavern for the mail
which might be ready there, and herself take it to the post-office. In
midsummer this mail was quite an important item, but at this time of
year it amounted to little; nevertheless, she followed what had become
the custom. She found one of the daughters of the house in the throes
of composition.

"Oh, Lucyet," she exclaimed, "you don't say that's you! I want this to
go to-night the worst way. Ain't you early?"

"Yes, I guess I am," said Lucyet, rather wearily.

"If you'll set on the piazzer and wait, I'll finish up in just a minute.
You see we had to get dinner for two gentlemen as came down to go
fishin' to-morrer, and it sorter put me back. I wish you'd wait."

"Well, I guess I can wait a few minutes," said Lucyet, the line between
her personal and her official capacity being sometimes a difficult one
to maintain rigidly. She seated herself on the piazza, not observing
that she was just outside of the window of the room within which the two
fishermen were smoking and talking in a desultory fashion. Later their
voices fell idly on her ear, speaking a language she only half
understood, blending with the few lazy sounds of the afternoon. The
conversation was really extremely desultory, being chiefly maintained by
the younger man of the two, who lounged on the sofa of unoriental luxury
with a thorough-going perversion of the maker's plan,--his head being
where his feet ought to have been and his feet hanging over the portion
originally intended for the back of his head. The other man wore the
frown of absorption as, a pencil in his hand, he worried through some
pages of manuscript.

"Oh, I say," observed the idler, "ain't you 'most through slaughtering
the innocents? I want to take that walk."

"I told you half an hour ago that if I could have a few uninterrupted
minutes I'd be with you," answered the other man, without looking up.
"They haven't fallen in my way yet."

"It's pity that moves me to speech," rejoined the first speaker, rising
and sauntering t