* * * * *

Of course, there came a time in Harvey, even in the house of Nesbit,
when there was marrying and giving in marriage. It was on a winter's
night when the house inside the deep, dark Moorish verandas, celebrating
Mrs. Nesbit's last bout with the spirit of architecture, glowed with a
jewel of light.

And in due course they appeared, Rev. Dr. John Dexter leading the way,
followed by a thin, dark-skinned young man with eyes to match and a
rather slight, shortish girl, blond and pink with happy trimmings and
real pearls on her eyelashes. The children jabbered, and the women wept
and the men wiped their eyes, and it was altogether a gay occasion. Just
as the young people were ready to look the world squarely in the face,
George Brotherton, thinking he heard some one moving outside in the
deep, dark veranda, flicked on the porch light, and through the windows
he saw--and the merry company could not help seeing two faces--two wan,
unhappy faces, staring hungrily in at the bridal pair. They stood at
different corners of the house and did not seem to know of one another's
presence until the light revealed them. Only an instant did their faces
flash into the light, as John Dexter was reading from the Bible a part
of the service that he loved to put in, "and forbid them not, for of
such is the kingdom of Heaven." The faces vanished, there was a
scurrying across the cement floor of the veranda and two figures met on
the lawn in shame and anger.

But they in the house did not know of the meeting. For everybody was
kissing everybody else, and the peppermint candy in little Grant
Brotherton's mouth tasted on a score of lips in three minutes, and a
finger dab of candy on Jasper Adams's shirt front made the world akin.

After the guests had gone, three old men lingered by the smoldering
logs. "Well, now, Doc Jim," asked Amos, "why shouldn't I? Haven't I paid
taxes in Greeley County for nearly fifty years? Didn't I make the
campaign for that home in the nineties, when they called it the poor
house--most people call it that now. I only stay there when I am
lonesome and I go out in a taxi-cab at the county's expense like a
gentleman to his estate. And I guess it is my estate. I was talking to
Lincoln about it the other night, and he says he approves. Ruskin says I
am living my religion like a diamond in the rock."

To the Captain's protest he answered, "Oh, yes, I know that--but tha