business to bother you."

Nan caught her breath. "Did Gabriel say I disliked him?"

"He didn't say that word," replied Cephas. "I think he said you detested
him, and I told him he didn't know what he was talking about. But he
did; he knew a great deal better than I did, because I didn't really
know until just now."

"But, Cephas!" cried Nan; "what could have put such an idea in his
head?" Cephas's mother was now busy about the house.

"I didn't know then, but I know now," remarked the boy stolidly.

"Don't be unkind, Cephas. If you knew me better, you'd be sorry for me.
You and Gabriel are terribly mistaken. I'm very fond of both of you."

"Oh, _I_ don't count in this game," Cephas declared.

"Oh, yes, you do," said Nan. "You are one of my dearest friends, and so
is Gabriel."

"All right," said Cephas. "If you treat all your dearest friends as you
do Gabriel, I'm very sorry for them."

"Cephas, if you tell Gabriel what I said while Eugenia Claiborne was
standing there, all ears, I'll never forgive you." Nan was at her wit's
end.

"Tell him that!" cried Cephas; "why, I wouldn't tell him that, not for
all the world. I'll tell him nothing."

"Please, Cephas," said Nan. "Tell him"--she paused, and threw her hair
away from her pale face--"tell him that if he doesn't come home soon, I
shall die!" Then her face turned from pale to red, and she laughed
loudly.

"Well, I certainly sha'n't tell him that," said Cephas.

"I didn't think you would," said Nan. "You are a nice little boy, and I
am going to kiss you good-bye. If you don't have something sweet to tell
me when you come back, I'll think you detest me--wasn't that Gabriel's
word? Poor Gabriel! he's in prison, and here we are joking about him."

"I'm not joking about him!" exclaimed Cephas.

"Just as much as I am," said Nan; and then she leaned over and kissed
Cephas's freckled face, leaving it very red after the operation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

_Mr. Sanders Visits Some of His Old Friends_

It will be observed by those who are accustomed to make note of trifles,
that the chronicler, after packing Cephas off in a barouche with the
handsome Captain Falconer, still manages to retain him in Shady Dale.
For the sake of those who may be puzzled over the matter, let us say
that it is a mistake of the reporter. That is the way our public men
dispose of their unimportant inconsistencies--and the reporter, for his
part, can say that the trouble is due t