Miss Carmichael, you make me the proudest man in the world, but I'm not
fit to black Wilks' boots."

"Well, I will not be so rude as to say I think you are. But, never talk
that way to me again, if you want me to like you. I will not have you
demeaning yourself, even in speech, before Cecile's friend. Now,
remember, not a word!"

The test was a severe one between loyalty to his old friend and devoted
obedience to the girl he loved. As all the memories of past friendship
came before him, he was inclined to be obdurate. Then, he looked at the
golden hair which had brushed his awhile ago, and, as the head
straightened up, at the pretty petulant lips and the blue eyes, lustrous
with just a moist suspicion of vexation and feeling, and he wavered. He
was lost, and was glad to be lost, as he whispered: "May I say it?"

"Yes; speak out, like a man, what you have to say."

"It's a bargain, Marjorie; never again!"

Somehow his right hand met her left, and she did not snatch it away too
quickly. Then he said: "You won't hate poor Wilks, my old friend,
Marjorie?"

She answered "No," and turned her face away to ask some trivial question
of the Squire, who knew a good deal more than he saw any necessity for
telling.

The kitchen party still kept up its numbers. True, the absence of the
constable and Maguffin left two serious blanks in the diversified talk
of the table, but the place of these gentlemen was taken by no fewer
than six persons, the three Richards and the three jurors, so that the
dinner party numbered fifteen, of whom four were women. Old whitehaired
Mr. Newberry, with the large rosy face, smooth, save for two little
white patches of side-whiskers, took possession of Matilda Nagle, and
rejoiced in her kindly ways and simple talk. He was a Methodist, and a
class-leader and local preacher, but a man against whom no tongue of
scandal wagged, and whose genuine piety and kindness of heart were so
manifest that nobody dreamt of holding up to ridicule his oft homely
utterances in the pulpit. If he could do good to the poor demented woman
and her afflicted boy, he would, and he knew that his little
quaker-bonneted wife would second him in such an effort. So he tried to
gain her confidence and the boy's, and, after a while, found that
Matilda would like to help Mrs. Newberry in her household duties, and
have Monty learn useful work on the farm. When informed by the fatherly
juror, in answer to her own questions, that she