flies gets after him; his tail ain't so long as some.... Well, I'll
let you know; and if you could drop around and see the table and
all-- Yes, some day this week. Of course I'll have to buy new
furniture to put in their places; so will Mrs. Dix. But I will say
that mahogany bed is handsome; they've got it in their spare room,
and there ain't a scratch on it. I can guarantee that.... Yes; I
guess the flies are bad today; looks like rain. Good-by!"

Lydia stood watching the carryall, as it moved away from under the
milk-white pillars of the restored portico. Why did Fanny Dodge and
Ellen Dix dislike her, she wondered, and what could she do to win
their friendship? Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by Martha,
the taciturn maid.

"I found this picture on the floor, Miss Lydia," said Martha; "did
you drop it?"

Lydia glanced at the small, unmounted photograph. It was a faded
snapshot of a picnic party under a big tree. Her eyes became at once
riveted upon the central figures of the little group; the pretty girl
in the middle was Fanny Dodge; and behind her--yes, surely, that was
the young clergyman, Wesley Elliot. Something in the attitude of the
man and the coquettish upward tilt of the girl's face brought back to
her mind a forgotten remark of Mrs. Solomon Black's. Lydia had failed
to properly understand it, at the time. Mrs. Solomon Black was given
to cryptic remarks, and Lydia's mind had been preoccupied by the
increasing difficulties which threatened the accomplishment of her
purpose:

"A person, coming into a town like Brookville to live, by rights had