There, in the company of Boethius, he often considered the world, and
watched, from above, the gradual life of the village. He heard the
occasional tonk of cows on the hillside, the creak of a cart on the
road, the faint sound of voices, blown by the wind. From his threshold
he saw the afternoon fade into evening, and night look down across the
hills, among the stars. He saw the lights come out in the valley, one
by one through the mist, smelled the fresh, sweet air of evening; and
promptly each night at seven, far off and sad, rolling among the hills,
he heard the ghostly hooting of the night freight, leaving Milford
Junction.

"Here," he said to himself, "within this circle of hills, is to be
found faith, virtue, passion, and good sense. In this valley youth is
not without courage, or age without wisdom. Yet age, although wise, is
full of sorrow."

While he was musing in this vein, the odor of frying bacon from the
kitchen, warmed his nose. So he was not surprised to see Mrs. Grumble
appear in the doorway soon afterward. "Your supper is ready," she
said; "if you don't come in at once it will grow cold."

For supper, Mr. Jeminy had a bowl of soup, a glass of milk, bacon,
potatoes, and a loaf of bread. When Mrs. Grumble was seated, he bent
his head, and said: "Let us give thanks to God for this manifestation
of His bounty."

During the meal Mrs. Grumble was silent. But Mr. Jeminy could see that
she had something important to say. At last she remarked, "As I was on
my way to the village, I met Mrs. Barly. She said, 'You'll have to buy
your own milk after this, Mrs. Grumble.' I just stood and looked at