e and gabled house of Revolutionary days
with a little terrace in front of it and a retaining wall built up from
the sidewalk. Austen, on the steps, stood gazing across at a square
mansion with a wide cornice, half hidden by elms and maples and pines. It
was set far back from the street, and a driveway entered the picket-fence
and swept a wide semicircle to the front door and back again. Before the
door was a sleigh of a pattern new to him, with a seat high above the
backs of two long-bodied, deep-chested horses, their heads held with
difficulty by a little footman with his arms above him. At that moment
two figures in furs emerged from the house. The young woman gathered up
the reins and leaped lightly to the box, the man followed; the little
groom touched his fur helmet and scrambled aboard as the horses sprang
forward to the music of the softest of bells. The sleigh swept around the
curve, avoided by a clever turn a snow-pile at the entrance, the young
woman raised her eyes from the horses, stared at Austen, and bowed. As
for Austen, he grew warm as he took off his hat, and he realized that his
hand was actually trembling. The sleigh flew on up the hill, but she
turned once more to look behind her, and he still had his hat in his
hand, the snowflakes falling on his bared head. Then he was aware that
James Redbrook was gazing at him curiously.

"That's Flint's daughter, ain't it?" inquired the member from Mercer.
"Didn't callate you'd know her."

Austen flushed. He felt exceedingly foolish, but an answer came to him.

"I met her in the hospital. She used to go there to see Zeb Meader."

"That's so," said Mr. Redbrook; "Zeb told me about it, and she used to
come to Mercer to see him after he got out. She ain't much like the old
man, I callate."

"I don't think she is," said Austen.

"I don't know what she's stayin' with that feller Crewe for," the farmer
remarked; of all the etarnal darn idiots--why, Brush Bascom and that
Botcher and the rest of 'em are trailin' him along and usin' him for the
best thing that ever came down here. He sets up to be a practical man,
and don't know as much as some of us hayseeds in the back seats. Where be
you goin'?"

"I was going to the Pelican."

"Well, I've got a committee meetin' of Agriculture," said Mr. Redbrook.
"Could you be up here at Mis' Peasley's about eight to-night?"

"Why, yes," Austen replied, "if you want to see me."

"I do want to see you," said Mr. Redbrook,