the deacon's grammar, it is true, but still listening patiently to the
rather lengthy prayer which included him as well as the rest of mankind.

There was no chance of seeing Katy alone, and so full two hours before
his usual custom Wilford retired to the little room to which the deacon
conducted him, saying as he put down the lamp: "You'll find it pretty
snug quarters, I guess, for such a close, muggy night as this, but if
you can't stand it you must lie on the floor."

And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought; but there was no
alternative, and a few moments found him in the center of two feather
beds, neither Helen nor Katy having discovered the addition made by Aunt
Betsy, and which came near being the death of the New York guest, who,
wholly unaccustomed to feathers, was almost smothered in them, besides
being nearly melted. To sleep was impossible, as the September night
was hot and sultry, and never for a moment did Wilford lose his
consciousness or forget to accuse himself of being an idiot for coming
into that heathenish neighborhood after a wife when at home there were
so many girls ready and waiting for him.

"I'll go back to-morrow morning," he said, and, striking a match, he
read in his Railway Guide when the first train passed Silverton, feeling
comforted to think that only a few hours intervened between him and
freedom.

But alas! for Wilford. He was but a man, subject to man's caprices, and
when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as
pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his
resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in
Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not