ily conceivable circumstances, that she almost felt a
disposition to smile gently at the fancy of the ignorant young couple
that they had caught a glimpse of the great vision.

She was sitting under the sweet apple tree at twilight. Supper was over;
Mark's restless feet were quiet, Fanny and Jenny were tucked safely in
bed; her aunt and her mother were stemming currants on the side porch.

A blue spot at one of the Perkins windows showed that in one vestal
bosom hope was not dead yet, although it was seven o'clock.

Suddenly there was the sound of a horse's feet coming up the quiet road;
plainly a steed hired from some metropolis like Milltown or Wareham,
as Riverboro horses when through with their day's work never disported
themselves so gayly.

A little open vehicle came in sight, and in it sat Abijah Flagg. The
wagon was so freshly painted and so shiny that Rebecca thought that he
must have alighted at the bridge and given it a last polish. The creases
in his trousers, too, had an air of having been pressed in only a few
minutes before. The whip was new and had a yellow ribbon on it; the
gray suit of clothes was new, and the coat flourished a flower in its
button-hole. The hat was the latest thing in hats, and the intrepid
swain wore a seal-ring on the little finger of his right hand. As
Rebecca remembered that she had guided it in making capital G's in his
copy-book, she felt positively maternal, although she was two years
younger than Abijah the Brave.

He drove up to the Perkins gate and was so long about hitching the horse
that Rebecca's heart beat tumultuously at the thought of Emma Jane's
heart waiting under the blue barege. Then he brushed an imaginary speck
off his sleeve, then he drew on a pair of buff kid gloves, then he went
up the path, rapped at the knocker, and went in.

"Not all the heroes go to the wars," thought Rebecca. "Abijah has laid
the ghost of his father and redeemed the memory of his mother, for no
one will dare say again that Abbie Flagg's son could never amount to
anything!"

The minutes went by, and more minutes, and more. The tranquil dusk
settled down over the little village street and the young moon came out
just behind the top of the Perkins pine tree.

The Perkins front door opened and Abijah the Brave came out hand in hand
with his Fair Emma Jane.

They walked through the orchard, the eyes of the old couple following
them from the window, and just as they disappeared down t