"When quiet in my house I sit,
Thy book be my companion still."

The youth looked uncomfortable, thinking that he had brought upon
himself a sermon unawares, and that being actually inside the house, and
having sat down, he might have difficulty in extricating himself. So he
said, rather to turn the conversation from its personal character, than
from any sense of the fitness of his remarks.

"It's sad about Jane Evans, isn't it?"

"What's sad, Dick?" asked Anne, still standing, and resting both hands
on the table. "Excuse my not sitting down, I've got a bad turn of
rheumatism."

"That's bad," said Dick. "I once had a bit in my back, and it was as
much as I wanted."

"But what about Jane?" asked Anne. "I've scarcely seen her or her sister
since the old grandmother died. I seldom get so far away. The Ashley
road doesn't go near that side, and that's the one that sees me
oftenest."

"Well, it seems," replied Dick, finding it, after all, an awkward
subject to talk of to a woman, "she's gone to live with that
horse-breeder who's taken Burton's farm."

"But he's a married man," said Anne, not comprehending.

"Yes, I know," said Dick, with an embarrassed laugh, but Anne did not