well
as himself. Mrs. Prency greeted him more kindly than ever, but Eleanor
seemed different. She was not as merry, as defiant, or as sympathetic
as of old. Sometimes there was a suggestion of old times in her manner,
but suddenly the young woman would again become reserved and distant.

One evening, when she had begun to rally him about something, and
quickly lapsed into a different and languid manner, Bartram said,--

"Eleanor, nothing seems as it used to be between you and me. I wish I
knew what was wrong in me."

The girl suddenly interested herself in the contents of an antiquated
photograph album.

"I must have become dreadfully uninteresting," he continued, "if you
prefer the faces in that album, of which I've heard you make fun time
and again. Won't you tell me what it is? Don't be afraid to talk
plainly: I can stand anything--from you."

"Oh, nothing," said Eleanor, continuing to pretend interest in the
pictures.

"'Nothing' said in that tone always means something--and a great deal
of it. Have I said or done anything to offend you?"

"No," said Eleanor, with a sigh, closing the book and folding her
hands, "only--I didn't suppose you ever could become a prosy, poky old
church-member."

The reply was a laugh, so merry, hearty, and long that Eleanor looked
indignant, until she saw a roguish twinkle in Bartram's eyes; then she
blushed and looked confused.

"Please tell me what I have said or done that was poky or prosy," asked
Bartram. "We lawyers have a habit of asking for proof as well as
charges. I give you my word, my dear girl, that never in all my
previous life did I feel so entirely cheerful and good-natured as I do
nowadays. I have nothing now to trouble my conscience, or spoil my
temper, or put me out of my own control, as used frequently to happen.
I never before knew how sweet and delightful it was to live and meet my
fellow-beings,--particularly those I love. I can laugh at the slightest
provocation now, instead of sometimes feeling ugly and saying sharp
things. Every good and pleasant thing in life I enjoy more than ever;
and as you, personally, are the very best thing in life, you seem a
thousand times dearer and sweeter to me than ever before. Perhaps you
will laugh at me for saying so, but do you know that I, who have
heretofore considered myself a little better than any one else in the
village, am now organizing a new base-ball club and a gymnasium
association, and also am trying to g