dicated by Mrs. Williams,
where a sign over the door, 'Fashionable Dressmaker,' explained the
feminine nature of her errand. Leaving there, the two walked on till
they reached a spot where they used to stroll together in old times.

'Now I think of it,' said Mrs. Williams, as she came out of the house
and rejoined her companion, 'I forgot to ask you if you are married,
because if you are, I need make no apology for marching you by a
dressmaker's establishment.

'Don't you know whether I am married or not?'

'Why, how should I? I certainly think you ought to be by this time. Why
don't you marry Miss Burns, or Louise Hawkins, or Charlotte, or--or'--

'Or whom?' asked Hiram.

'Oh, I dare say there are ever so many more, ever so many. So you are
not married?'

'Do you think I am, Mary?' * * *

As I was saying, the two sauntered on till they reached a spot that had
been favorite ground for their sentimental strolls. Both knew well
enough, when Hiram proposed to walk down the lane, where they would
land, for it was in both their minds. Mrs. Williams fancied it would
amuse her and furnish a little variety. She was very sure of herself,
and knew 'just what a flirt Hiram was.'

Hiram--but never mind what _he_ thought.

* * * * *

Although the days were at their longest, it was quite dark before Mrs.
Williams reached her own door. She entered it--after a hurried 'good
evening' to Hiram--flushed, excited, and with feelings generally
disturbed. Contrary to her resolution, in opposition to her judgment,
and, I may say, against her will, she listened to the old familiar
accents breathed in more impassioned tones than ever before, while
relieved by a gloss of sentimental sadness.

What had she been doing, and where had the hours fled? To what was she
listening, whose arm did she hold, and whose hand ventured to enclose
hers?

[It was 'only in sisterly friendship.' That was Hiram's observation as
he took it.]

Before she was aware of it, twilight was disappearing in the darkness.

She started as if recovering herself, and commenced to walk hurriedly
toward home. Hiram by no means relished the pace, but he was forced to
keep up, and, as I have observed, with an abrupt 'good evening' he was
summarily dismissed.

But he had enjoyed himself exceedingly, and he walked slowly toward his
house, recalling every little word which, as he believed, disclosed the
true state of Mary Williams's affe