It was not a pleasant train of thought, and he was pleased when it was
interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Hatton. "Why, John, my dear," she
said, "I was wondering if you had come home yet. Have you seen Harry?"

"Not since breakfast."

"He is with that girl, I suppose; or, if Lugur is at home, he is
watching the house she lives in."

"He is very much in love. We must make the best of it. I thought he was
in love with Polly Crowther--but it seems not. There is a little
difference between the two girls."

"There is a big difference between them, and it is all in favor of Polly
Crowther."

"As far as we can judge at present it is, but--whatever have you in your
basket, mother? It smells like Paradise."

"I have herbs, John. I have been crushing down my heartache with
work--there's nothing beats work if you're in trouble. I cleaned out my
still room today, and I was carrying there the last pickings of lavender
and rosemary, sage and marjoram, basil and mint. I can tell you, John,
there's a deal of help in some way or other through sweet, pungent
smells. They brightened me up a bit today, they did that!"

"To be sure they did, mother. They rise naturally to Heaven, and if we
are willing, they carry our thoughts with them."