bors. Every one
ought to know about his neighbors, eh?"

"Yes, sir. After you've been here some time, though, you'll know all
about them."

"Yes, but the trouble is I don't want to wait that long. Now, for
instance, who lives over there on my left; the square white house with
the drab blinds?"

"Miss Cousins, sir. She's a maiden lady and has a great deal of money.
They say she owns some of the railroad. She plays the organ in church,
and--"

"Youngish, is she, with sort of wavy brown hair and--"

"No, sir," Zephania tittered, "Miss Cousins is kind of old and has real
gray hair."

"Really? On my other side, then, who's my neighbor there? Or haven't I
one?"

"Oh, yes, sir," answered Zephania, eagerly. "That's the Walton house,
and that's--"

"The--_what_?" asked Wade, sitting up very suddenly in the green rep
rocker.

"The Walton house, sir."

"Oh! Hum! And--er--who lives there, Zephania?"

"Miss Walton and Miss Mullett."

"What's this Miss--Miss Walton like? Is she rather stout with quite
black hair, Zephania?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Herring! I guess you saw Mrs. Sampson, the dressmaker. She
lives over there across the common, in the little yellowish house with
the vines; see?"

"Yes, yes, I see. That's where Miss Sampson lives, eh? Well, well! But
we were speaking about Miss Walton, weren't we?"

"Yes, sir. Miss Walton's a young lady and as pretty as--as--" Zephania's
words failed her and she looked about apparently in search of a simile.

"Now let's see what you call pretty," said Wade. "What color is her
hair?"

"It's brown."

"Oh, well, brown hair isn't uncommon."

"No, sir, but hers is kind of wavy and light and I don't believe she
ever has to curl it."

"You don't tell me! And her eyes, now? I suppose they're brown too?"

"Blue, sir. She has beautiful eyes, Mr. Herring, just heavenly!
Sometimes I think I'd just give almost anything if my eyes were like
hers."

"Really? But you seem to have a very good pair of your own. Don't
trouble you, do they?"

"They're black," said Zephania, cheerfully. "Black eyes aren't pretty."

"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that," murmured Wade, politely.

"No, sir, but Miss Walton's are just as blue as--as the sky up there
between those two little white clouds. She's awfully pretty, Mr.
Herring."

"Complexion dark, I suppose."

"No, sir, not dark at all. It's real light. Some folks say she's too
pale, but I don't think so. And sometimes she has just lots of p