ne can fit in the sense easily when the
proper rhyme has been decided upon; and who knows but that Gifford, lying
there in the grass, with the old lichen-covered step for a desk, might
have written a sonnet or a madrigal which would have given him his
heart's desire before the moon rose! But an interruption came.

The rector and Mr. Denner were coming back from fishing, along the road
on the other side of the hedge, and Dr. Howe turned in here to follow the
garden path home, instead of taking the longer way. Both pushed through a
gap in the hedge, and discovered Gifford lying in the grass by the stone
bench.

"Hello!" said the rector. "Working up a case, young man?"

Perhaps Gifford was not altogether displeased to be interrupted; the
song we might have sung is always sweetest. At all events, he very
good-naturedly put his note-book back in his pocket, and rolling over on
his stomach, his elbows crushing down the soft grass and his fists under
his chin, began to talk to the two elder men.

"Had good luck?"

The rector shook his head ruefully. "Denner has two trout. Fate was
against me. Any fishing about Lockhaven, Gifford? Ward do any?"

Gifford laughed. "He only fishes for men," he said. "He devotes himself
to it day and night. Especially of late; his fear of hell-fire for other
people's souls has seemed to take great hold on him."

"Gad!" said Dr. Howe. "He's a queer fellow."

"He's a good fellow," Gifford answered warmly. "And as to his belief,
why, you believe in hell, don't you, doctor?"

"Oh, bless my soul, yes," said Dr. Howe, with a laugh, and with a twinkle
in his eyes. "I must, you know, and it's well to be on the safe side,
Giff; if you believe it here, theoretically, it is to be supposed you
won't believe it there, experimentally!" He laughed again, his big, jolly
laugh. "Good-by, Denner. You took all the luck."

Then he trudged whistling up the path, striking at the hollyhocks with
his rod, and wondering how long it would take Sally to brush the mud off
his corduroys.

But Mr. Denner delayed. He laid his rod tenderly down on the grass, and
his fishing-basket on the stone bench beside him. Gifford's sense of
humor padded a good many of the sharp points of life; he had to look less
doleful when he saw that the lawyer had chosen Lois's seat, and even her
attitude; his little shriveled hands were clasped upon his knees, and he
was bending forward, looking at the young man as he talked. Gifford
thou