latest thing from Applegate--the girls are all
crazy about it--jest the little artistic trifle that catches a woman's
eye."

In the end, under the sting of her rebuke, though but half convinced, he
concluded the purchase and went out, bearing the box of ornamented paper
under his arm. An hour later, after the letter was written, misgivings
besieged him anew, and he stood holding the envelope at arm's length,
while he frowned dubiously at the emblematic dove on the flap.

"It doesn't look just right to me," he said under his breath, "but Mrs.
Bottom ought to know, and I reckon she does."

The letter went, and the next afternoon he followed it in person to
Jordan's Journey. Gay was coming down the walk when he reached the lawn,
and after a moment's hesitation they stopped to exchange a few remarks
about the weather.

"There's something I want to explain to you, Revercomb," said Jonathan,
wheeling back abruptly after they had parted. "Molly has become a member
of our household, you see; so my relation to her is really that of a
cousin. She's a staunch little soul--I've a tremendous admiration for
her--but there has never been the slightest sentiment between us, you
understand."

"Yes, I understand," replied Abel, and fell silent.

There was a certain magnanimity, he recognized, in Gay's effort to put
things right even while he must have preferred in his heart to have them
remain in the wrong. As Molly's cousin it was hardly probable that he
should care to hasten her marriage to a country miller.

"Well, I wanted you to know, that was all," said Gay in a friendly tone.
"You'll find Molly in the side-garden, so I wouldn't trouble to knock if
I were you."

He went on, swinging with an easy stride between the hedges of box,
while Abel, passing the right wing in obedience to the directions, found
Molly walking up and down in a small grassy path, which was sprinkled
with snowdrops. The "side-garden" was a ruined, over-grown square,
planted in miniature box, which the elder Gay had laid out after one
of his visits to Italy. Now, with its dwindling maze and its unpruned
rose-bushes, it resembled a picture which has been blotted out until the
original intention of the artist is no longer discernible. Yet the place
was exquisite still. Spring had passed over it with her magical touch,
and she had decorated the spot she could no longer restore. The scent of
box filled the air, and little new green leaves had put out on the