"Good-evening!" said Schmidt, keeping his seat in the low window-sill.

Mr. Oldmixon returned, "Thee is well, I trust?"

"Ach! with such a sun and the last roses, which seem the most sweet, and
these most lovely of fall-flowers, and a good book and a pipe," said
Schmidt, "who will not be well? Have you the honest blessing of being a
smoker?"

"Nay," said the Quaker, with evident guarding of his words. "Thee will
not take it amiss should I say it is a vain waste of time?"

"But," answered Schmidt, "time hath many uses. The one is to be wasted;
and this a pipe mightily helps. I did think once, when I went to
meeting, how much more solemn it would be for each man to have a pipe to
excuse his silence."

"Thee jests idly, I fear," said the Friend, coloring and evidently
holding himself in check. "Is that friend Wholesome in the garden? I
have need to see him."

"Yea," said Schmidt, with a broad smile, "he is yonder under a tree,
like Adam in the garden. Let us take a peep at Paradise."

Mr. Oldmixon held his peace, and walked quietly out of the window and
down the graveled path. There were some who surmised that his years and
his remembrance of the three wives he had outlived did not altogether
suffice to put away from him a strong sentiment of the sweetness of his
ward. Perhaps it was this notion which lit up with mirth the ruddy face
of the German as he walked down the garden behind the slim ascetic