that evening, at the Parson's
golden wedding, and noticed that she listened to him with a perfectly
beautiful eagerness.

"It's because I talked about Fair," he said to himself as he left
her--"Aha! there they go off together, now."

The scene of this movement was that large house and grounds, the "Usher
home place," just beyond the ruined bridge where Cornelius had once seen
ghosts. A pretty sight it was to come out on the veranda, as John did,
and see the double line of parti-colored transparencies meandering
through the dark grove to the gate and the lane beyond. Shotwell met
him.

"Hello, March, looking for Fair? He's just passed through that inside
door with Miss Garnet."

"I know it--I'm not looking for anyone--in particular."

Out here on the veranda it was too cool for ladies; John heard only male
voices and saw only the red ends of cigars; so, although he was not--of
course he wasn't!--looking for anyone--in particular--he went back into
the crowded house and buzzing rooms.

"Hunt'n' faw yo' maw, John?" asked Deacon Sexton as he leaned on his old
friend Mattox; "she's----"

"Why, I'm not hunting for anybody," laughed March; "do I look like I
was?"

He turned away toward a group that stood and sat about Parson Tombs.

"I never suspicioned a thing," the elated pastor was saying for the
third or fourth time. "I never suspicioned the first thing till Motheh
Tombs and I got into ow gate comin' home fum the Graveses! All of a
sudden there we _ware_ under a perfec' demonstration o' pine an' ceda'
boughs an' wreaths an' arborvitae faschoons! Evm then I never suspicioned
but what that was all until Miss Fannie an' Miss Barb come in an' begin
banterin' not only Motheh Tombs but _me_, if you'll believe it, to lie
down an' rest a while befo' we came roun' here to suppeh! Still I
'llowed to myself, s'I, it's jest a few old frien's they've gotten
togetheh. But when I see the grove all lightened up with those Chinee
lanterns, I laughed, an' s'I to motheh, s'I, 'I don't know what it is,
but whatev' it is, it's the biggest thing of its kind we've eveh treed
in the fifty years that's brought us to this golden hour!' An' with that
po' motheh, she just had to let go all ho-holts; heh--heh cup run oveh.

"You wouldn't think so now, to see heh sett'n' oveh there smilin' like a
basket o' chips, an' that little baag o' gold dollahs asleep in heh lap,
would you? But that smile ain't change' the least iota these fifty
years