Warren looked up and saw the smile, but he
had not caught the words.

"It's too serious a matter to grin over," he remarked, sadly, but with
a bright eye turned toward the cigars that lay upon the pile of
newspapers. "It's a curse to be poor," he said, with solemnity, though
his eye was delighted.

"A crime," Lyman replied. "It gives no opportunity to be generous,
sneers at truth and calls virtue a foolish little thing. It is the
philosopher, with money out at interest, that smiles upon the
contentment and blessedness of the poor man."

"Helloa, you are more of a grumbler than I ever saw you before."

Lyman leaned back with his arms spread out, and laughed. "It would
seem that the rich man's coach wheel has raked off a part of my hide,
but it hasn't, my boy." He got up and walked about the room; he went
to the window. Damp air was stirring and an old map was flapping
slowly against the dingy wall. He gazed over the housetops in the
direction of the grove where the paper lanterns had hung, but all was
dark and rain was fast falling.

"It's raining," he said. "I'm glad it held up until after the picnic."

"Yes," Warren replied, "for we might have been cheated out of the
cigars and the five dollars."

"And I might have been robbed of a pleasant few moments."

"You are gone," said Warren, yawning.

"No, not yet, but I am going." He reached for his hat.

"In the rain?" Warren asked. "I'm going to smoke another cigar before
I turn in. Stay here tonight; you can have my cot. I'd as soon sleep
on the floor."

"No, I won't rob you."

"Rob me? Your work tonight would make a stone slab a soft place for me
to rest."

"And my mind might turn a bed, formed of the breast feathers of a
goose, into a stone slab. Good night."

The hour was late, but a light was burning in old Jasper's house. As
Lyman stepped upon the veranda Henry Bostic came out of the sitting
room.

"Ah, Mr. Lyman, but you are dripping wet."

"I hadn't noticed it, but it is raining rather hard. You are not going
out in it, are you?"

"I have but a short distance to go. I found Miss Annie so entertaining
that I didn't know it was so late. I came to invite her to hear me
preach the third Sunday of next month, at Mt. Zion, on the Fox Grove
road, five miles from town. I should like you to be present."

"Yes, as I was present at your first--"

"Don't mention that, Mr. Lyman," he said, hoisting his umbrella. "That
was not wholly free from a spirit o