e, I won't say anything
about it."

"Yes, I have found out."

"You needn't say--I guess I know." Warren reached over and took Lyman
by the hand. "We save time and trouble when we put a man in a position
so that he needn't say."

"Yes," said Lyman, "the greatest justice you can confer on a man, at
times, is to permit him to be silent."

Nancy came hastily into the room and from the broad mantel-piece took
down two beflowered tea-cups, kept there as ornaments. She smiled at
Warren and brushed out with a mischievous toss of her comely head.

"We not only put them to extra trouble, but compel them to take down
their decorations," Lyman remarked.

"But can't you see how she likes it?" Warren spoke up. "Probably it
has been six months since they have had a chance to use those cups. We
are doing them a favor, I tell you." He shook his head and sighed. "If
she comes in here again and looks at me that way I'll know where I
stand. Oh, I'm not slow, but I want to be certain."

They heard the old man talking in the kitchen, and then came his heavy
tread on the loose and flapping boards of the passage-way. The door
was cut so low that he had to duck his head. He came in with a stoop,
but straightening himself in the majesty of conscious hospitality, he
bowed and said: "Gentlemen, you will please walk out to supper."

Lyman began to offer an apology for putting the household to so much
trouble. The old man bowed again and said: "We didn't bring no trouble
home with us from church, but ruther a pleasure, sir."

CHAPTER XXVI.

OUT IN THE DARK.

Warren argued, the old man urged and the old lady pleaded as she
fanned her hot face with her apron, catching it up by the corners, but
Lyman was determined to go home. Warren went out with him and together
they walked down the dark road, in the cool air of the night and the
hot air that lagged over from the heat of the day. There was no moon,
but in the sky, which the slowly-moving boughs of over-hanging trees
seemed to keep in motion, there was a blizzard of stars. From the
dust-covered thickets along the road arose the chirrup of insects, the
strange noises that make night lonesome; and a small stream, which in
the light has flowed without noise over the slick, blue rocks, was
rushing now with a loud gurgle, as if to hurry out of the dark.

"Well, I turn back here," said Warren. "It is a piece of foolishness
for you to go. There's no need of it. You haven't anything to