better selves: she only felt keenly that two
months ago such rudeness would have been impossible to her. Why was she
growing vulgar and weak?

The air stirred the leaves of the old Walnuts outside: the black-coated,
dapper figure had not yet passed from under them. He was so gentle and
pious and good! Should she run after him? She dropped instead into her
chair and cried comfortably till a noise in the shop stopped her, and
looking through the dusky books she saw a man waiting. She got up and
went in hastily, looking keenly at his face to find how long he had been
there, and how much he had seen. It wore, however, an inscrutable
gravity.

Most of Peter's old customers sold to themselves during his absence, but
this was a stranger. He stood looking curiously at the heaped books and
the worn sheepskin-covered chair, until she was close to him: then he
looked curiously at her.

"I have had some correspondence with Mr. Guinness about a copy of
Quadd's _Scientific Catalogues_."

"Mr. Guinness is not at home, but he left the book," said Kitty, alertly
climbing the steps. Bringing the book, she recognized him as Doctor
McCall, who had once before been at the shop when her father was gone.
He was a young man, largely built, with a frank, attentive face, red
hair and beard, and cordial voice. It was Kitty's nature to meet anybody
halfway who carried summer weather about him. "My father hoped you would
not come for the book until his return," she said civilly. "Your letters
made him wish to see you. You were familiar, he told me, with some old
pamphlets of which few customers know anything."

"Probably. I could not come at any other time," curtly, engrossed in
turning over the pages of his book. Presently he said, "I will look over
the stock if you will allow me. But I need not detain you," glancing at
her work in the inner room. Kitty felt herself politely dismissed. Nor,
although Doctor McCall stayed for half an hour examining Peter's
favorite volumes as he sat on his high office-stool and leaned on his
desk, did he once turn his eyes on the dimpling face making a
picturesque vignette in the frame of the open window. When he had
finished he came to the door. "I will call for the books I have chosen
in an hour;" and then bowed distantly and was gone.

He had scarcely closed the gate when the back door creaked, and Miss
Muller came in smiling, magnetic from head to foot, as her disciples in
Berrytown were used to allege.