will go thither again, and see if I did not catch the
tone of his mind aright, and if the cold and lifeless tint of his
perceptions be not then repeated in my own.

Yet it was unaccountable to myself, the interest that I felt in him.

"Have you any objection," said I, "to telling me who made those little
purses?"

"Gentlemen have often asked me that," said Moodie slowly; "but I shake
my head, and say little or nothing, and creep out of the way as well as
I can. I am a man of few words; and if gentlemen were to be told one
thing, they would be very apt, I suppose, to ask me another. But it
happens just now, Mr. Coverdale, that you can tell me more about the
maker of those little purses than I can tell you."

"Why do you trouble him with needless questions, Coverdale?"
interrupted Hollingsworth. "You must have known, long ago, that it was
Priscilla. And so, my good friend, you have come to see her? Well, I
am glad of it. You will find her altered very much for the better,
since that winter evening when you put her into my charge. Why,
Priscilla has a bloom in her cheeks, now!"

"Has my pale little girl a bloom?" repeated Moodie with a kind of slow
wonder. "Priscilla with a bloom in her cheeks! Ah, I am afraid I
shall not know my little girl. And is she happy?"

"Just as happy as a bird," answered Hollingsworth.

"Then, gentlemen," said our guest apprehensively, "I don't think it
well for me to go any farther. I crept hitherward only to ask about
Priscilla; and now that you have told me such good news, perhaps I can
do no better than to creep back again. If she were to see this old
face of mine, the child would remember some very sad times which we
have spent together. Some very sad times, indeed! She has forgotten
them, I know,--them and me,--else she could not be so happy, nor have a
bloom in her cheeks. Yes--yes--yes," continued he, still with the same
torpid utterance; "with many thanks to you, Mr. Hollingsworth, I will
creep back to town again."

"You shall do no such thing, Mr. Moodie," said Hollingsworth bluffly.
"Priscilla often speaks of you; and if there lacks anything to make her
cheeks bloom like two damask roses, I'll venture to say it is just the
sight of your face. Come,--we will go and find her."

"Mr. Hollingsworth!" said the old man in his hesitating way.

"Well," answered Hollingsworth.

"Has there been any call for Priscilla?" asked Moodie; and though his
face was hidden from