urning into this street and walking leisurely past the back yard,
which was only slightly screened from the street by a china-tree,
Warwick perceived the young woman standing on the piazza, facing an
elderly woman, who sat in a large rocking-chair, plying a pair of
knitting-needles on a half-finished stocking. Warwick's walk led him
within three feet of the side gate, which he felt an almost
irresistible impulse to enter. Every detail of the house and garden
was familiar; a thousand cords of memory and affection drew him
thither; but a stronger counter-motive prevailed. With a great effort
he restrained himself, and after a momentary pause, walked slowly on
past the house, with a backward glance, which he turned away when he
saw that it was observed.

Warwick's attention had been so fully absorbed by the house behind the
cedars and the women there, that he had scarcely noticed, on the other
side of the neglected by-street, two men working by a large open
window, in a low, rude building with a clapboarded roof, directly
opposite the back piazza occupied by the two women. Both the men were
busily engaged in shaping barrel-staves, each wielding a sharp-edged
drawing-knife on a piece of seasoned oak clasped tightly in a wooden
vise.

"I jes' wonder who dat man is, an' w'at he 's doin' on dis street,"
observed the younger of the two, with a suspicious air. He had noticed
the gentleman's involuntary pause and his interest in the opposite
house, and had stopped work for a moment to watch the stranger as he
went on down the street.

"Nev' min' 'bout dat man," said the elder one. "You 'ten' ter yo' wuk
an' finish dat bairl-stave. You spen's enti'ely too much er yo' time
stretchin' yo' neck atter other people. An' you need n' 'sturb yo'se'f
'bout dem folks 'cross de street, fer dey ain't yo' kin', an' you're
wastin' yo' time both'in' yo' min' wid 'em, er wid folks w'at comes on
de street on account of 'em. Look sha'p now, boy, er you'll git dat
stave trim' too much."

The younger man resumed his work, but still found time to throw a
slanting glance out of the window. The gentleman, he perceived, stood
for a moment on the rotting bridge across the old canal, and then
walked slowly ahead until he turned to the right into Back Street, a
few rods farther on.

II

AN EVENING VISIT

Toward evening of the same day, Warwick took his way down Front Street
in the gathering dusk. By the time night had spread its mantle