which the
distractions of the world so often sow there."

"Oh, 'is 'eart's all right, Mr. Needham," said the postmaster cheerily,
as the vicar shook hands with him, and moved slowly away towards his
home.

Despite the excitement of preparation both at the Post Office and the
inn, and the beguilement of gossip which brought the most improbable
stories into circulation among the village folk, as, for example, that
Mrs. Charles had borrowed a silver teapot from the wife of the estate
agent to Sir Henry Birken; a story devoid of fact, for Edward John had
paid in hard cash at Birmingham for that article, as well as a cream jug
to match, making a special journey for the purpose the previous day, and
thus carrying out a twenty-five-year-old promise to his patient
wife--despite these excellent reasons for speeding the time, the hours
wore slowly on, and the postmaster must have covered a mile or two in
his wanderings between his shop door and the corner of the street, from
which a distant view of the returning vehicle might be had. It was
expected back by four o'clock, and when on the stroke of five it had not
returned, Mrs. Charles was sitting in gloom, with terrible pictures of
railway accidents passing before her mind, gazing in a sort of mental
morgue upon her dead boy.

Soon after five o'clock the gig pulled up before the door at a moment
when the vigilance of the postmaster had been relaxed, and Henry had
stepped into the shop before his father was there to greet him; but it
had been Dora's good fortune to see him arrive while giving some
finishing touches to his bedroom upstairs, and the clatter of her
descent brought the whole group about him in a twinkling.

In the excitement of the moment Henry's expected companion was
forgotten, until his father asked suddenly: "And where's your lit'ry
friend?"

"Oh, I've missed him somehow. He didn't turn up at St. Pancras this
morning, and I've no idea what's become of him."

The news fell among them like a thunderbolt, and all but Henry
immediately thought of that silver teapot and other preparations for the
distinguished visitor. Edward John secretly regretted his journey to
Birmingham; but Mrs. Charles was glad she had the teapot, visitor or no
visitor.

Henry was not altogether sorry, if he had spoken his mind, for he had
never quite reconciled himself to his friend's proposal. But he did not
speak his mind, and he endeavoured to sympathise with his father's
regrets