murmured, in a subdued voice.

Mr. Pawket mildly waited for these asides to conclude before he resumed:
"Howsomever, it seems that one dear to us"--he fixed his eyes on Willum,
but in spite of him his gaze wandered off to Willum's lady--"one dear to
us has got back from foreign lands and built a vanilla." The old farmer
turned to Mrs. Folsom with a burst of eloquence. "Sence that has
happened, by gum! our whole lives is changed and we know more about
It'ly than I ever thought we should; and so with regards to this here
new vanilla house and a few little presents and one thing and another,
why, all I can say is, Mrs. Folsom, we've gone and did as we'd be done
by."

There was something very like a cheer at the conclusion of these
remarks. Meanwhile, at a sign from the architect, the great carved doors
of the villa swung open and the little group pressed in.

They stepped into the cool, dim court with its paved floors and
delicately woven stairways. Mrs. Folsom clasped her hands with pleasure
over a wide window-seat which gave on a western slope where the gold sun
was speared by the tall black trees. But Folsom, to whom the architect
gave a nervous cue, hurried to the _sala da mangiare_, and thrust back
its sumptuous Genoese curtains.

There under the iron candelabra of the Medicis stood a shining table of
varnished splendor; on it, as if hoping to deaden its aggressive luster,
was a marvelous strip of Paduan lace, while around its stodgy newness
were six smug chairs of a very palpable "golden oak." Folsom threw up
his hands in apparent joy and astonishment.

"Great Harry!" The young man's voice was extraordinarily exalted. He
bent over and touched the varnished surfaces with a reverent hand. "A
perfectly new dining-table--a present--a complete set of absolutely
unused chairs! Oh, I say! This won't do--it's preposterous! Somebody has
been getting gay." The young man first looked suspiciously at the
architect, then turned and with severe eyes surveyed Farmer Pawket's
shamefaced elation.

"So it's you, sir," he said. "Now look here!" Folsom strode up and put
his firm hand on the old man's chest. "Brace up and tell what you know
about this. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't do it. No, you
can't hide behind Mother Pawket." Folsom's grave glance reduced Mrs.
Pawket to a helpless flutter. "She's probably put you up to it; she's a
designing woman." Folsom went eagerly over to the dark-eyed Italian
lady. "Jessica