ot be denied, that he _did_ become a little
animated as he proceeded; and that he _did_ take the widow's hand in his,
and did squeeze it, perhaps with a little too much freedom, and did look
into her eyes, as if he loved her with his whole soul and body into the
bargain; nor can it be denied that she was pleased with these tokens of
esteem, or love, or friendship, or whatever else she might have thought
them; for she did not withdraw her hand, and _she_ smiled when _he_
smiled; and there certainly was a strong sympathy apparent in their looks;
and even when in the fervor of his feelings he held his pipe between his
teeth to free the hand which held it, and deliberately squeezed _both_ of
her hands in his, still she did not appear embarrassed, nor vexed; and
when he had released it, quietly went on with her sewing, as composedly as
if what he had just done was quite usual, and a matter of course.

'And now, Mrs. Chowles,' said Harson, as he concluded his narrative; 'upon
the strength of our success we are to have a jollification to-morrow at my
house; and we'll have Dick Holmes there, and Kate, and Ned Somers, and
Kate's father. He must make up with Ned then, if not before. He knows he
was wrong, and he must give up.'

'But will he?' inquired the widow, anxiously. 'You know Jacob's a
wrong-headed old man, in some things. Will he?'

'Wont he?' ejaculated Harson, with a peculiar wink and nod of
satisfaction, as if he and himself were on excellent terms, and understood
what they were about perfectly well. 'I tell you what it is,' added he, in
a more grave tone; 'Jacob has had his own way, or rather Michael Rust's
way, in this matter, too long. He shall have it no longer. He _shall_ not
break his child's heart. I will not permit it.' He took his pipe from his
mouth, and slapped his knee emphatically. 'Have you observed no change in
the girl, since then? If _you_ have not, _I_ have. She is still the same
devoted, affectionate child to that warped old man that she always was;
but look at her face and form, and listen to her voice. She was once the
gayest, merriest little creature that ever lived. It threw sunshine into
one's heart only to look at her; and when she spoke, did you ever hear a
bird whose voice was half so joyous? Poor thing! when she laughs now, it
makes my heart ache. It's like the smile of one dying, when he is trying
to whisper hope to those who are weeping over his death-bed. God bless
her! and how should it