on my shoulder, a cur--quite as much of a ne'er-do-well as myself--at
my heels. Of course Deacon Whittle and Mrs. Solomon Black have told
you all about it. And since you've set about reforming Brookville,
you thought you'd begin with me. Well, I'm obliged to you; but--"

The girl arose trembling to her feet.

"You are not kind!" she cried. "You are not kind!"

They stood for an instant, gazing into each other's eyes during one
of those flashes of time which sometimes count for years.

"Forgive me," he muttered huskily. "I'm a brute at best; but I had no
business to speak to you as I did."

"But why did you say--what made you ever think I'd set about
reforming--that is what you said--_reforming_--Brookville? I never
thought of such a thing! How could I?"

He hung his head, abashed by the lightning in her mild eyes.

She clasped her small, fair hands and bent toward him.

"And you said you wanted to be--friends. I hoped--"

"I do," he said gruffly. "I've told you I'm ashamed of myself."

She drew back, sighing deeply.

"I don't want you to feel--ashamed," she said, in a sweet, tired