er all, it was the contrast between his
life and hers. As an American of good antecedents and education, with a
Western experience thrown in, social gulfs, although awkward, might be
crossed in spite of opposition from ladies like the Rose of Sharon,--who
had crossed them. Nevertheless, the life which Victoria led seemingly
accentuated--to a man standing behind a picket-fence in the snow--the
voids between.

A stamping of feet in the Widow Peasley's vestibule awoke in him that
sense of the ridiculous which was never far from the surface, and he made
his way thither in mingled amusement and pain. What happened there is of
interest, but may be briefly chronicled. Austen was surprised, on
entering, to find Mrs. Peasley's parlour filled with men; and a single
glance at their faces in the lamplight assured him that they were of a
type which he understood--countrymen of that rugged New England stock to
which he himself belonged, whose sons for generations had made lawyers
and statesmen and soldiers for the State and nation. Some were talking in
low voices, and others sat silent on the chairs and sofa, not awkwardly
or uncomfortably, but with a characteristic self-possession and repose.
Mr. Redbrook, towering in front of the stove, came forward.

"Here you be," he said, taking Austen's hand warmly and a little
ceremoniously; "I asked 'em here to meet ye."

"To meet me!" Austen repeated.

"Wanted they should know you," said Mr. Redbrook.

"They've all heard of you and what you did for Zeb."

Austen flushed. He was aware that he was undergoing a cool and critical
examination by those present, and that they were men who used all their
faculties in making up their minds.

"I'm very glad to meet any friends of yours, Mr. Redbrook," he said.
"What I did for Meader isn't worth mentioning. It was an absolutely
simple case."

"Twahn't so much what ye did as how ye did it," said Mr. Redbrook. "It's
kind of rare in these days," he added, with the manner of commenting to
himself on the circumstance, "to find a young lawyer with brains that
won't sell 'em to the railrud. That's what appeals to me, and to some
other folks I know--especially when we take into account the situation
you was in and the chances you had."

Austen's silence under this compliment seemed to create an indefinable
though favourable impression, and the member from Mercer permitted
himself to smile.

"These men are all friends of mine, and members of the Hou