of fruit which she had accumulated somehow, as
only herself could have explained.

Maybe there is no trivial thing that so greatly helps to bridge over a
trying situation as good breeding. The breeding which is really good,
out of the inner life: kindness and the reluctance to inflict pain. It
was such breeding that enabled the oddly assorted company at that
Christmas dinner table to pass the hours of their intercourse not only
in peace, but with absolute enjoyment.

Finally, when the elders pushed back their chairs, Mr. Kaye proposed
that Amy should sing some of the old-time ballads familiar to the
childhood of both himself and his kinsman. So Hallam took out his
mother's guitar and tuned it, and his sister placed herself beside him.

"Ah, how well I remember that little instrument," cried Mr. Wingate,
"and the commotion it caused among the Friends. Music used to be the
most 'worldly' and undesirable thing, but they are more tolerant now.
Give us 'Lang Syne,' youngsters. It's the song for the day and--this
hour."

It was. They sang it lustily, and Amy was amazed to hear how finely that
deep voice of their cousin could fill in the pauses of her own treble,
sweet but not strong. Then there was "Annie Laurie," and "Edinboro'
Toon," and "Buy my Caller Herrin'," and others; till Cleena drew John to
the door to listen and applaud, forgetting for once the big pile of
dishes standing unwashed upon her kitchen table.

"For, aye, it's a time o' peace, thank God. An' her that has gone is
among us never a doubt I doubt. What's a bit o' idlin' when a sight for
saints is afore ye? If Fayetty, now--"

But Fayette was not there. Neither was he in his own room when Cleena
sought him there. He had left it while she was off guard and had made
his escape unseen. Forces of good and evil were tormenting him: the
struggle to do right and please these good friends, and the greater
yearning to seek the wrong path to revenge.

Yet, after all, what was this poor human waif to these happier folk? So
he asked himself as he sneaked away in the twilight which hid his
departure.

Had Amy heard the question, she would have answered it promptly: "Much,
Fayette. Everybody one knows is something to one's self."

But she did not even hear of his brief visit, for, having discovered his
fresh defection, Cleena decided to keep the matter to herself.

It was getting quite late when Archibald Wingate drove away from
"Charity House" toward Fairacre