with his father, and strode out of Beulah with dramatic gestures of
shaking its dust off his feet. His father, roused for once from his
lifelong patience, had been rather terrible in that last scene; so
terrible that he had never forgiven himself, or really believed
himself fully forgiven by God, though his son had alienated half the
village and nearly rent the parish in twain by his conduct.

As for Letty, she held her peace. She could only hope that the
minister and his wife suspected nothing, and she was sure of Beulah's
point of view. That a girl would never give up a suitor, if she had
any hope of tying him to her for life, was a popular form of belief in
the community; and strangely enough it was chiefly the women, not the
men, who made it current. Now and then a soft-hearted and chivalrous
male would observe indulgently of some village beauty, "I shouldn't
wonder a mite if she could 'a' had Bill for the askin'"; but this
opinion would be met by such a chorus of feminine incredulity that its
author generally withdrew it as unsound and untenable.

It was then, when Dick had gone away, that the days had grown drab and
long, but the twins kept Letty's inexperienced hands busy, though in
the first year she had the help of old Miss Clarissa Perry, a
childless expert in the bringing-up of babies.

The friendship of Reba Larrabee, so bright and cheery and
comprehending, was a never-ending solace. There was nothing of the
martyr about Letty. She was not wholly resigned to her lot, and to
tell the truth she did not intend to be, for a good many years yet.

"I'm not a minister, but I'm the wife of a minister, which is the next
best thing," Mrs. Larrabee used to say. "I tell you, Letty, there's no