ed, "what do you think
of our progress?"

"Progress?" repeated Philip vacantly. "I beg your pardon!"--

"In music, man!" said Mrs. Barclay, laughing.

"O!--Admirable. Have you a Bible here?"

"A Bible?" Mrs. Barclay echoed. "Yes--there is a Bible in every room, I
believe. Yonder, on that table. Why? what do you want of one now?"

"I have had a sermon preached to me, and I want to find the text."

Mrs. Barclay asked no further, but she watched him, as with the book in
his hand he sat down before the fire and studied the open page. Studied
with grave thoughtfulness, drawing his brows a little, and pondering
with eyes fixed on the words for some length of time. Then he bade her
good-night with a smile, and went away.

He went away in good earnest next day; but as a subject of conversation
in the village his visit lasted a good while. That same evening Mrs.
Marx came to make a call, just before supper.

"How much pork are you goin' to want this year, mother?" she began,
with the business of one who had been stirring her energies with a walk
in a cool wind.

"I suppose, about as usual," said Mrs. Armadale.

"I forget how much that is; I can't keep it in my head from one year to
another. Besides, I didn't know but you'd want an extra quantity, if
your family was goin' to be larger."

"It is not going to be larger, as I know."

"If my pork ain't, I shall come short home. It beats me! I've fed 'em
just the same as usual,--and the corn's every bit as good as usual,
never better; good big fat yellow ears, that had ought to make a
porker's heart dance for joy; and I should think they were sufferin'
from continual lowness o' spirits, to judge by the way they _don't_ get
fat. They're growing real long-legged and slab-sided--just the way I
hate to see pigs look. I don' know what's the matter with 'em."

"Where do you keep 'em?"

"Under the barn--just where they always be. Well, you've had a visitor?"

"Mrs. Barclay has."

"I understood 'twas her company; but you saw him?"

"We saw him as much as she did," put in Charity.

"What's he like?"

Nobody answered.

"Is he one of your high-flyers?"

"I don't know what you call high-flyers, aunt Anne," said Madge. "He
was a gentleman."

"What do you mean by _that?_ I saw some 'gentlemen' last summer at
Appledore--and I don't want to see no more. Was he that kind?"

"I wasn't there," said Madge, "and can't tell. I should have no
objection to see a good many of th