he sermon, but I saw
Captain Nugent there, and I remembered the stupid quarrel between you.
It's absurd that it should go on indefinitely."

"Why, what does it matter?" inquired the other, staring. "Why shouldn't
it? Perhaps it's the music that's affected you; some of those old
hymns--"

"It wasn't the sermon and it wasn't the hymns," said his son,
disdainfully; "it's just common sense. It seems to me that the enmity
between you has lasted long enough."

"I don't see that it matters," said the captain; "it doesn't hurt me.
Nugent goes his way and I go mine, but if I ever get a chance at the old
man, he'd better look out. He wants a little of the starch taken out of
him."

"Mere mannerism," said his son.

"He's as proud as Lucifer, and his girl takes after him," said the
innocent captain. "By the way, she's grown up a very good-looking girl.
You take a look at her the next time you see her."

His son stared at him.

"She'll get married soon, I should think," continued the other. "Young
Murchison, the new doctor here, seems to be the favourite. Nugent is
backing him, so they say; I wish him joy of his father-in-law."

Jem Hardy took his pipe into the garden, and, pacing slowly up and down
the narrow paths, determined, at any costs, to save Dr. Murchison from
such a father-in-law and Kate Nugent from any husband except of his
choosing. He took a seat under an old apple tree, and, musing in the
twilight, tried in vain to think of ways and means of making her
acquaintance.

Meantime they passed each other as strangers, and the difficulty of
approaching her only made the task more alluring. In the second week he
reckoned up that he had seen her nine times. It was a satisfactory
total, but at the same time he could not shut his eyes to the fact that
five times out of that number he had seen Dr. Murchison as well, and
neither of them appeared to have seen him.

He sat thinking it over in the office one hot afternoon. Mr. Adolphus
Swann, his partner, had just returned from lunch, and for about the fifth
time that day was arranging his white hair and short, neatly pointed
beard in a small looking-glass. Over the top of it he glanced at Hardy,
who, leaning back in his chair, bit his pen and stared hard at a paper
before him.

"Is that the manifest of the North Star?" he inquired.

"No," was the reply.

Mr. Swann put his looking-glass away and watched the other as he crossed
over to the window and gaze