hn; to his great delight she came
towards him. She looked more lovely than ever, he thought; the dark fur
about her throat set off her delicate, sad face like a frame.

"Oh--are you here, too, Mr. Short?" she said.

"Hard at work, as you see," answered John. "Are you going to help, Mrs.
Goddard? Won't you help me?"

"I wanted to," said Nellie, appealing to her mother, "but they would not
let me, so I can only hold the string."

"Well, dear--we will see if we can help Mr. Short," said Mrs. Goddard
good-naturedly, and she sat down upon the choir bench.

John never forgot that delightful Christmas Eve. For nearly two hours he
never left Mrs. Goddard's side, asking her advice about every branch and
bit of holly and following out to the letter her most minute suggestions.
He forgot all about the squire and about the walk back from the park, in
the delight of having Mrs. Goddard to himself. He pushed the school
children about and spoke roughly to old Reynolds if her commands were not
instantly executed; he felt in the little crowd of village people that he
was her natural protector, and he wished he might never have anything in
the world to do save to decorate a church in her company. He grew more
and more confidential and when the work was all done he felt that he had
thoroughly established himself in her good graces and went home to dream
of the happiest day he had ever spent. The organ ceased playing, the
little choir dispersed, the school children were sent home, Mr. Abraham
Boosey retired to the bar of the Duke's Head, Muggins tenderly embraced
every tombstone he met on his way through the churchyard, the
"gentlefolk" followed Reynolds' lantern towards the vicarage, and Mr.
Thomas Reid, the conservative and melancholic sexton, put out the lights
and locked the church doors, muttering a sour laudation of more primitive
times, when "the gentlefolk minded their business."

For the second time that day, John and Mr. Ambrose walked as far as the
cottage, to see Mrs. Goddard to her home. When they parted from her and
Nellie, John was careful not to say anything more about the odes, a
subject to which Mrs. Goddard had not referred in the course of the
evening. John thanked her rather effusively for her help--he could never
have got through those choir benches without her, he said; and the vicar
added that he was very much obliged, too, and surreptitiously conveyed
to Mrs. Goddard's hand a small package intended for Miss Ne