bright crown adorning,
They shall shine--'"

"Mr. Herring, sir, breakfast's most ready."

"So am I," answered Wade, throwing open the door. "It certainly smells
good, Zephania. Got lots of coffee?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Herring."

"Herrick, Zephania."

"Yes, sir; excuse me; Herrick."

After breakfast Zene, as his father and Zephania called him, or Zenas
Third, as he was known to the Village, appeared with Wade's trunk on a
wheelbarrow. Zenas Third was a big, broad-shouldered youth of twenty
with a round, freckled, smiling face and eager yellow-brown eyes. He
always reminded Wade of an amiable animated pumpkin. Wade got his
fishing tackle out of the trunk and he and Zenas Third started off for a
day's fishing.

They took the road past The Cedars, Wade viewing the house on the chance
of seeing the ladies. But although he failed and was a little
disappointed he did not escape observation himself.

"There goes Mr. Herrick with Zenas Third," announced Miss Mullett,
hurrying cautiously to the sitting-room window. As she had been in the
act of readjusting her embroidery hoops when she arose, her efforts to
secure all the articles in her lap failed and the hoops went circling
off in different directions. "They're going fishing, Eve."

"Are they?" asked Eve from the old mahogany desk by the side window,
with only a glance from her writing.

"Yes, and--_Did_ you see where those hoops rolled to?"

"No, I didn't notice. But your handkerchief is over by the couch and
you're stepping on a skein of linen."

"So I am." Miss Mullett rescued and reassembled her things and sat down
again. "Are you very busy, dear?"

"No." Eve sighed impatiently and laid her pen down. "I'm not at all
busy. I wish I were. I can't seem to write this morning."

"I'm so glad. Not that you can't write, of course, but that you're not
busy. I want to talk."

"Talk on." Eve placed her hands behind her head and eyed the few lines
of writing distastefully.

"But I want you to talk, too," said Miss Mullett, snipping a thread with
her tiny scissors.

"I haven't anything to say."

"Nonsense, dear! There's always plenty to say. Why, I'm sure if I lived
to be a thousand, I'd not be talked out. There's always so many
interesting things to talk about."

"And what is it this morning?" asked Eve, smiling across at the sleek
head bent above the embroidery frame.

"Mr. Herrick. Tell me what you think of him, Eve."

"I haven't thought--much."

"But yo