Perry Thomas stepped in.

"I just happened to be passin' and thought I'd drop in for a spell," he
said, with a profound bow to Mary, who arose to greet him.

This apology of Perry's was as absurd as mine had been, for he lived a
mile on the other side of the village; and as the next house was over
the ridge, a good three miles away, it was odd that he should be
wandering aimlessly about thus. Besides, he had on his new Prince
Albert, and there was a suspicion of a formal call in the smoothly
oiled hair and tallowed boots. He carried his fiddle, too. There was
to my mind every evidence that the visit had been preconceived, and to
this point had been carried out with an eye on every detail. Had the
contrary been true, there would have been no cause for Perry to glare
at me as he did. The he-ro in blue was anything but welcome now.
Indeed, it seemed that could Perry's wish have been complied with, I
should be back on the "lead-strewn fields of Cuby."

Mary was most cordial. She seized his fiddle and his hat and stowed
them carefully away together, while Luther, pushing the latest visitor
to a place at his side on the settee, told him how fortunate he was to
drop in just at that time, as he would hear a few interesting things
about the famine in India.

Perry was positively ungrateful. He declared that he could only stay a
minute at the most, and that it was really not worth Luther's while to
begin reading. Mary said that she would not hear of him leaving. She
had hidden his hat and would insist on his playing; that was, if I did
not mind and her uncle gave his permission. Perry smiled. There was