liking, for this quiet, strange lad, with the pale, kind face. And I
would to God I might see those three still walking together, as when
children, through this life that has dealt so strangely with them all
since that Summer evening.




CHAPTER II.

_The Faringfields._


Having shown how Philip Winwood came among us, I ought to tell at
once, though of course I learned it from him afterwards, all that need
be known of his previous life. His father, after leaving Oxford and
studying medicine in Edinburgh, had married a lady of the latter city,
and emigrated to Philadelphia to practise as a physician. But whether
'twas that the Quaker metropolis was overstocked with doctors even
then, or for other reasons, there was little call for Doctor Winwood's
ministrations. Moreover, he was of so book-loving a disposition that
if he happened to have sat down to a favourite volume, and a request
came for his services, it irked him exceedingly to respond. This being
noticed and getting abroad, did not help him in his profession.

The birth of Philip adding to the doctor's expenses, it soon came
about that, in the land where he had hoped to make a new fortune, he
parted with the last of what fortune he had originally possessed. Then
occurred to him the ingenious thought of turning bookseller, a
business which, far from requiring that he should ever absent himself