a peculiar sound with his lips, and then
stood silent, opening and closing his hands in a way that made my
blood run chill in spite of myself.

"A house!" he murmured, at last; "I wish I had the building of that
house!"

The tone, the look he gave, alarmed me still further.

"You would build it well!" I cried. It was his trade, the building of
houses.

"I would build it slowly," was his ominous answer.

* * * * *

Juliet certainly likes me, and trusts me, I think, more than any other
of the young men who used to go a-courting her. I have seen it for
some time in the looks she has now and then given me across the
meeting-house during the long sermon on Sunday mornings, but to-day I
am sure of it. For she has spoken to me, and asked me--But let me
tell you how it was: We were all standing under Ralph Urphistone's big
tree, looking at his little one toddling over the grass after a ball
one of the lads had thrown after her, when I felt the slightest touch
on my arm, and, glancing round, saw Juliet.

She was standing beside her father, and if ever she looked pretty it
was just then, for the day was warm and she had taken off her great
hat so that the curls flew freely around her face that was dimpled and
flushed with some feeling which did not allow her to lift her eyes.
Had she touched me? I thought so, and yet I did not dare to take it
for granted, for Colonel Schuyler was standing on the edge of the
crowd, frowning in some displeasure at the bare head of his provoking
little betrothed, and when Colonel Schuyler frowns there is no man of
us but Orrin who would dare approach the object of his preference,
much less address her, except in the coldest courtesy.

But I was sure she had something to say to me, so I lingered under the
tree till the crowd had all dispersed and Colonel Schuyler, drawn away
by her father, had left us for a moment face to face. Then I saw I was
right.

"Philo," she murmured, and oh, how her face changed! "you are my
friend, I know you are my friend, because you alone out of them all
have never given me sharp words; will you, will you do something for
me which will make me less miserable, something which may prevent
wrong and trouble, and keep Orrin--"

Orrin? did she call him Orrin?

"Oh," she cried, "you have no sympathy. You--"

"Hush!" I entreated. "You have not treated me well, but I am always
your friend. What do you want me to do?"

She trembled,