aving her in open-mouthed amazement.

"One doesn't see much handsomer things than that girl has showed us," he
said to Brent, who was keeping somewhat in advance.

"No," he answered over his shoulder.

Awhile longer the old gentleman walked with bowed head, then asked:

"Why your abstraction, sir?"

Brent wheeled and faced him. He was crimson with shame, and blurted out
two short sentences:

"I'm a pup, Colonel! I've no right to walk with you!"

"Eh--wha--what do you mean, sir?"

The old gentleman stood rooted to the spot, one foot in advance as he
had just begun his last stride. He had not even raised his head, but was
looking up from under frowsy brows with eyes that were grave and
startled. Against his will some old whisperings of months ago
insistently recurred to him.

Brent now took a few steps back and fearlessly met those accusing eyes.

"One time I tried to hurt that girl," he said squarely. "I got her to
meet me at night, because she didn't know any better, and I didn't give
a damn. But she showed me what a scoundrel I had intended to be then,
and she's just showed me again. She told me about Dale's blind sister
then, and now she's telling that all over again, too. It gets next to
me, Colonel, and if anybody wants to kick me about your farm till
dinner, he can begin when he's ready!"

"All right--er--Gridley," the old gentleman smiled. "In the ratio of
your repentance I feel proportionately happy. You've relieved my mind of
a cloud that has shut out a lot of sunshine these past months, which
otherwise would have been entirely bright. So I absolve you, sir! Now
let the talk die."

"Talk?" Brent flushed a deeper red. "Are they saying anything about it?"

"Emphatically no!--not the girls, at any rate. There may have been
some--er--slight mention."

"Oh, I hate that," he cried, feeling his soul cringe for the injustice
he had brought upon her.

"So do I, sir," the Colonel quickly declared, not understanding. "But
you must let me assure you that the girls have given it little
attention. They never gossip, sir!--for gossips, sir, are the most
arrant of cowards! No one's character is safe from them, sir! They take
a grain of fact," the old gentleman's face was becoming flushed as he
thundered forth this pet denunciation, "and plant it in soil manured
with the rottenest intentions, sir! And it grows into a bastard of
truth, exhaling odors as vitiated as the breath of a toad! The very
saints could no