low-time, now stumbled down the lane, biting at one another. The
stiffening wind, fore-whistle of the season's change of tune, was shrill
amid the rushes at the edge of the swamp.

It was a time to work, but also to muse and dream while working. In the
air was something that invited, almost demanded reverie. Upon the fields
there might lie many a mortgage, but who at such a time could worry over
the harsh exactions of debt?

Nearly three weeks had passed, and not again in the Major's household
had Pennington's name been mentioned. But once, alone with his wife, the
Major was leading up to it when she held up her hands and besought him
to stop. "I can't bear to think of it," she said. "It stuns and
stupefies me. But it is of no use to say anything to her. She is of age
and she is head-strong."

There was a dry rasp in the Major's throat. "Don't you think that to say
she is a crank would be hitting nearer the mark?"

"No, I don't," his wife answered. "She is not a crank. She is a
remarkably bright woman."

"Yes, she shows it. When a man does a fool thing he is weak, off, as
they say; but when a woman jumps out of the enclosure of common sense
we must say that she is bright."

"I thought you were going to shame her out of it?"

"I will, but she hasn't given me a chance. But we'll let it go. I
believe she has repented of her folly and is too much humiliated to make
a confession."

His wife smiled sadly. "Don't you think so?" he asked.

"No, I don't."

"Well, I must say that you are very calm over the situation."

"Didn't I tell you that I was stunned and stupefied by it?"

"Yes, that's all right, and there's no use in worrying with it. Common
sense says that when you can't help a thing the best plan is to let it
go until a new phase is presented."

And so they ceased to discuss the subject, but like a heavy weight it
lay upon them, and under it they may have sighed their worry, but they
spoke it not. From Tom this sentimental flurry had remained securely
hidden. Sometimes the grave tone of his father's words, overheard at
night, and his mother's distressful air, during the day, struck him with
a vague apprehension, but his mind was not keen enough to cut into the
cause of what he might have supposed to be a trouble; and so, he gave it
none of his time, so taken up with his banjo, his dogs, his sporting
newspaper, and his own sly love affair. In Louise's manner no change was
observed.

One afternoon the Maj