streets, from darkness into light, from light back to darkness; and one
cottage window, before which Will Blanchard stood, still showed a candle
behind a white blind. Most quaint and ancient was this habitation--of
picturesque build, with tiny granite porch, small entrance, and
venerable thatches that hung low above the upper windows. A few tall
balsams quite served to fill the garden; indeed so small was it that
from the roadway young Blanchard, by bending over the wooden fence,
could easily reach the cottage window. This he did, tapped lightly, and
then waited for the door to be opened.

A man presently appeared and showed some surprise at the sight of his
late visitor.

"Let me in, Clem," said Will. "I knawed you'd be up, sitting readin'
and dreamin'. 'T is no dreamin' time for me though, by God! I be corned
straight from seeing Miller 'bout Phoebe."

"Then I can very well guess what was last in your ears."

Clement Hicks spoke in an educated voice. He was smaller than Will but
evidently older. Somewhat narrow of build and thin, he looked delicate,
though in reality wiry and sound. He was dark of complexion, wore his
hair long for a cottager, and kept both moustache and beard, though the
latter was very scant and showed the outline of his small chin through
it. A forehead remarkably lofty but not broad, mounted almost
perpendicularly above the man's eyes; and these were large and dark and
full of fire, though marred by a discontented expression. His mouth was
full-lipped, his other features huddled rather meanly together under the
high brow: but his face, while admittedly plain even to ugliness, was
not commonplace; for its eyes were remarkable, and the cast of thought