pretty little cottage
on Cedar Lane, where Jacob Homer lived?"

"Is that true?"

"It is said so. In fact, I heard it from Jane Homer, and that is pretty
good authority."

"Is he going to live there with his mother?"

"Jane did not know. Her husband went behind hand the year he built
the cottage, and never was able to get up even with the world. So
they determined to sell their place, pay off their debts, and find
contentment in a rented house. Mr. Homer said something to Mr.
Wallingford on the subject, and he offered to buy the property at a fair
price."

A few days afterwards, in passing along Cedar Lane, I noticed a
carpenter at work in the pretty cottage above referred to; and also a
gardener who was trimming the shrubbery.

Good morning, William, "I spoke to the gardener with whom I was well
acquainted. This is a nice cozy place."

"Indeed and it is, Doctor. Mr. Homer took great pride in it."

"And showed much taste in gardening."

"You may well say that, Doctor. There isn't a finer shrubbery to any
garden in S----."

"Is Mr. Wallingford going to live here, or does he intend renting the
cottage?"

"That's more than I can answer, Doctor. Mr. Wallingford isn't the man,
you know, to talk with everybody about his affairs."

"True enough, William," said I smiling and passed on.

"Did you know," said my wife, a few weeks later, "that Mr. Wallingford
was furnishing the cottage on Cedar Lane?"

"Ah! Is that so?"

"Yes. Mrs. Dean told me that Jones the cabinet maker had the order,
which was completed, and that the furniture was now going in.
Everything, she says, is plain and neat, but good."

"Why, what can this mean, Constance? Is our young friend about to
marry?"

"It has a look that way, I fancy."

"But who is the bride to be?" I asked.

"Mrs. Dean thinks it is Florence Williams."

"A fine girl; but hardly worthy of Henry Wallingford. Besides, he is ten
year her senior," said I.

"What is the difference in our ages, dear?" Constance turned her fresh
young face to mine--fresh and young still, though more than thirty-five
years had thrown across it their lights and shadows, and laid her head
fondly against my breast.

I kissed her tenderly, and she answered her own question.

"Ten years; and you are not so much my senior. I do not see any force
in that objection. Still if I had been commissioned to select a wife for
Mr. Wallingford, I would not have chosen Florence Williams."

"Her father