same, and the old man was too brave and simple for the latter half of
his century. As Duff Salter thought of many memories associated with the
Rev. Silas Van de Lear's residence in Kensington, he heard his own name
mentioned. It was a lady's voice; nothing but acute sensibility could
have made it so plain to a deaf man:

"Husband," said the lady with the slumberous eyelids, "go out with the
pitcher and get us half a gallon of ale. Cal and Mr. Salter and myself
are thirsty."

"I have been for the doctor, Lottie; let Cal go."

"Cal?" exclaimed the lady, very quietly raising her lashes. "It would
not do for him to go for _ale_! He is to be the junior pastor, my dear,
as soon as papa is buried, over the Van de Lear church."

"All right," said the tired husband, "I'll go. We must all back up Cal."

As soon as the door closed upon Mr. Knox Van de Lear, a kiss resounded
through the little house, and a woman's voice followed it, saying:

"Imprudent!"

"Oh, bah!" spoke Calvin Van de Lear. "Salter is deaf as a post. Lottie,
Agnes Wilt has been ruined!"

In the long pause following this remark the deaf man peeped through his
fingers and saw the lady of the house kiss her husband's brother again
and again.

"I am so glad," she whispered. "Can it be true?"

"It's plain as a barn door. She'll be a mother before shad have run out,
or cherries come in."

"The proud creature! And now, Cal dear, you see nothing exceptionally
saint-like there?"

"I see shame, friendlessness, wealth, and welcome," spoke the young man.
"It's just my luck!"

"But the deaf man? Will he not take her part?"

"No. I shall show him to-night what will cure his partiality. Lottie,
you must let me marry her."

The large, blonde lady threw back her head until the strong, animal
throat and chin stood sharply defined, and white and scarlet in color as
the lobster's meat.

"Scoundrel!" she hissed, clenching Calvin's wrist with an almost
maniacal fury.

At this moment a bell began to toll on the neighboring fire company's
house, and Knox Van de Lear entered with the pitcher of ale.

"They're tolling the fire bell at the news of father's dying," said
Knox.

Calvin filled a glass of ale, and exclaimed:

"Here's to the next pastor of Kensington!" as he laughingly drained it
off.

"Oh, brother Cal!" remarked the hostess as she softly dropped her
eyelids and smiled reprovingly; "this irreverence comes of visiting Miss
Agnes Wilt too often. I must