"Here--go get yourself a Sunday bonnet that'll make all the other girls
mad," he said, looking at her with a sheepish twinkle in his deep-set
eyes; and she immediately guessed that the unwonted present--the only
gift of money she had ever received from him--represented Harney's first
payment.

But the young man's coming had brought Mr. Royall other than
pecuniary benefit. It gave him, for the first time in years, a man's
companionship. Charity had only a dim understanding of her guardian's
needs; but she knew he felt himself above the people among whom he
lived, and she saw that Lucius Harney thought him so. She was surprised
to find how well he seemed to talk now that he had a listener who
understood him; and she was equally struck by young Harney's friendly
deference.

Their conversation was mostly about politics, and beyond her range; but
tonight it had a peculiar interest for her, for they had begun to speak
of the Mountain. She drew back a little, lest they should see she was in
hearing.

"The Mountain? The Mountain?" she heard Mr. Royall say. "Why, the
Mountain's a blot--that's what it is, sir, a blot. That scum up there
ought to have been run in long ago--and would have, if the people down
here hadn't been clean scared of them. The Mountain belongs to this
township, and it's North Dormer's fault if there's a gang of thieves
and outlaws living over there, in sight of us, defying the laws of their
country. Why, there ain't a sheriff or a tax-collector or a coroner'd
durst go up there. When they hear of trouble on the Mountain the
selectmen look the other way, and pass an appropriation to beautify the