tention. The only interest he showed
now was when the minister got down to what he called the present
circumstances of the family. It seemed that they were very poor; Brother
Bethuel appeared determined that the stranger should know precisely how
poor. He brought forward the pathetic view.

"They have nothing to eat sometimes but corn-meal and potatoes," he
said. This made no impression.

"The brook rises now and then, and they live in a roaring flood; all the
small articles have more than once been washed away."

"Any of the children?" inquired Wainwright.

"Once, when the horses were lame, I saw Honor go to the mill herself
with the meal-sack."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, and carry it home again. And I have seen her scrubbing out the
kettles."

Wainwright gave an inward shudder. "Has she any education at all?" he
asked, with a feeling like giving her money, and getting away as fast as
possible: money, because he had for twenty-four hours made her in a
certain way a subject of study, and felt as if he owed her something,
especially if he went disappointed.

"Sir, she has a finished education," responded the little minister with
dignity; "she can play delightfully upon David's instrument, the harp."

At this moment they came to the plank and the ditch.

"I will go no farther," said Brother Bethuel, "and--and you need not
mention to the Colonel, if you please, that I accompanied you hither."
Then he stood on tiptoe, and whispered mysteriously into Stephen's ear:
"As to horses, remember to apply to me--Brother Head, Bethuel Head. A
note dropped into the post-office will reach me, a man on horseback
bringing the mail up our way twice each week. Bethuel Head--do not
forget." He struck himself on the breast once or twice as if to
emphasize the name, gave Stephen a wink, which masqueraded as knowing
but was more like entreaty, and, turning away, walked back toward the
village.

"An extraordinary little man," thought the other, crossing the plank,
and following the path up the ravine by the side of the brook.

The Colonel sat on his high, unrailed piazza, with the red wagon and a
dilapidated buggy drawn up comfortably underneath; Honor was with him.
He rose to greet his visitor, and almost immediately asked if he was
related to Bishop Wainwright. When Stephen replied that he was not, the
old gentleman sat down, and leaned his crutch against the wall, with a
good deal of disappointment: being a devoted churchman, he had ho