he waters might do him good: but he
found the sandy stretches and long lines of straight firs in Canada very
monotonous; and he was already beginning to be oppressed by the sense of
homelessness. His quiet and domestic life had unfitted him for being a
wanderer, and he was already looking forward to the greater excitements
of European travel; hoping that they would prove more diverting and
entertaining than he had thus far found travel in America.

He entered St. Mary's as Hetty had done, just at sunset. It was a warm
night in June; and, after his tea at the little inn, Dr. Eben sauntered
out listlessly. The sound of merry voices in the Square repelled him;
unlike Hetty, he shrank from strange faces: turning in the direction
where it seemed stillest, he walked slowly towards the woods. He looked
curiously at the little red chapel, and at Father Antoine's cottage, now
literally imbedded in flowers. Then he paused before Hetty's tiny house.
A familiar fragrance arrested him; leaning on the paling he looked over
into the garden, started, and said, under his breath: "How strange! How
strange!" There were long straight beds of lavender and balm, growing
together, as they used to grow in the old garden at "Gunn's." Both the
balm and the lavender were in full blossom; and the two scents mingled
and separated and mingled in the warm air, like the notes of two
instruments unlike, yet in harmony. The strong lemon odor of the balm,
was persistently present like the mastering chords of the violoncello,
and the fine and subtle fragrances from the myriad cells of the
pale lavender floated above and below, now distant, now melting and
disappearing, like a delicate melody. Dr. Eben was borne away from the
present, out of himself. He thrust his hand through the palings, and
gathered a crushed handful of the lavender blossoms: eagerly he inhaled
their perfume. Drawers and chests at "Gunn's" had been thick strewn with
lavender for half a century. All Hetty's clothes--Hetty herself--had
been full of the exquisite fragrance. The sound of quick pattering steps
roused him from his reverie. A bare-footed boy was driving a flock of
goats past. The child stopped and gazed intently at the stranger.

"Child, who lives in this little house?" said Dr. Eben, cautiously
hiding his stolen handful of lavender.

"Tantibba," replied the boy.

"What!" exclaimed the doctor. "I don't understand you. What is the
name?"

"Tantibba! Tantibba!" the child sh