usual; and he read there that she did pray. "She believes
it," he thought. He looked at her generally; she did not appear to be
either extremely young, or ignorant, or commonplace, exactly. "About
eighteen," he thought.

"He has asked if his father has been told," continued the minister.

"No, no; it is better he should know nothing," said the girl. "Can you
take a package, Mr. Head?"

"Yes, to-morrow. I abide to-night with Brother Beetle."

"I will have it ready, then," said the girl.

The stage moved on, she waved her hand, and the minister nodded
energetically in return until the road curved and he could see her no
longer. His tall hat was tightly on his head all this time; politeness
in the mountains is not a matter of hat. They were but half a mile from
Ellerby now, and the horses began to trot for the first time in eight
hours. Brother Bethuel turned himself, and met Wainwright's eyes. Now
those eyes of Wainwright were of a pale color, like the eyes of a fish;
but they had at times a certain inflexibility which harassed the
beholder, as, sometimes, one fish in an aquarium will drive a person
into nervousness by simply remaining immovable behind his glass wall,
and staring out at him stonily. Brother Bethuel, meeting Wainwright's
eyes, immediately began to talk:

"A fine young lady that: Miss Honor Dooris, niece of Colonel Eliot--the
low-country Eliots, you know, one of our most distinguished families. I
venture to say, sir, that strike at an Eliot, yes, strike at an Eliot,
and a thousand will rise to beat back the blow. It would be dangerous,
sir, most dangerous, to strike at that family."

"Are they troubled by--by strikers?" asked Stephen.

"Nobody ever harms anybody in this blessedly peaceful country of ours,"
said the little minister in a loud, chanting voice. Then he dropped to a
conversational tone again. "Miss Honor has been to the library; she is
writing some 'Reflections on the Book of Job,' and is obliged of course
to consult the authorities. You noticed the old library, did you
not?--that small building in the grove, opposite the mill; her father
was one of the trustees. The front steps are down, and she is obliged to
climb in by a back window--allowable, of course, to a trustee's
daughter--in order to consult the authorities."

"And on Job they are such as--?"

"Well, the dictionaries, I reckon," said Brother Bethuel, after
considering a moment. "She is not of my flock; the Eliots are, of
c