you see, it's all right,
an' we're just waiting till the Money Moon comes, aren't we,
Uncle Porges?"

"Yes, old chap, yes," nodded Bellew, "until the Money Moon comes."

And so there fell a silence between them, yet a silence that held a
wondrous charm of its own; a silence that lasted so long that the
coppery curls drooped lower, and lower upon Bellew's arm, until Anthea,
sighing, rose, and in a very tender voice bade Small Porges say
'Goodnight!' the which he did, forthwith, slumberous of voice, and
sleepy eyed, and so, with his hand in Anthea's, went drowsily up to bed.

Wherefore, seeing that Miss Priscilla had bustled away into the kitchen,
Bellew sauntered out into the rose-garden to look upon the beauty of the
night. The warm air was fragrant with dewy scents, and the moon, already
high above the tree-tops, poured down her gentle radiance upon the
quaint, old garden with its winding walks, and clipped yew hedges, while
upon the quiet, from the dim shadow of the distant woods, stole the
soft, sweet song of a nightingale.

Bellew walked a path bordered with flowers, and checkered with silver
patches of moon-light, drinking in the thousand beauties about him,
staring up at the glory of the moon, the indigo of the sky, and
listening to the voice of the lonely singer in the wood. And yet it was
of none of these he was thinking as he paused under the shadow of "King
Arthur,"--nor of Small Porges, nor of any one or anything in this world
but only of the sudden, light touch of a warm, soft hand upon his. "Be
that you, sir?" Bellew started and now he found that he had been
sitting, all this while, with an empty pipe between his teeth, yet
content therewith; wherefore he shook his head, and wondered.

"Be that you, Mr. Beloo, sir?"

"Yes Adam, it is I."

"Ah! an' how might you be feelin' now--arter your exercise wi' the
pitch-fork, sir?"

"Very fit, I thank you, Adam. Sit down, and smoke, and let us converse
together."

"Why thankee sir," answered Adam, producing the small, black clay pipe
from his waistcoat pocket, and accepting Bellew's proffered pouch. "I've
been up to the 'ouse a visitin' Prudence, the cook,--an' a rare cook she
be, too, Mr. Beloo sir!"

"And a rare buxom girl into the bargain, Adam!"

"Oh, ah!--she's well enough, sir; I won't go for to deny as she's a
fine, up-standing, well-shaped, tall, an' proper figure of a woman as
ever was, sir,--though the Kentish lasses be a tidy lot, Mr. Beloo