like you see. Yes, ma'am! there's as many as seven of 'em in the
house. Where'll you find anything like that, I'd like to know!"

"I--think the house might be made to look very pleasant, Mr.
Whittle," Lydia replied, in a hesitating voice.

Wesley Elliot fancied he could detect a slight tremor in its even
flow. He pushed open the door and walked boldly in.

"Good-morning, Miss Orr," he exclaimed, advancing with outstretched
hand. "Good-morning, Deacon! ...Well, well! what a melancholy old
ruin this is, to be sure. I never chanced to see the interior
before."

Deacon Whittle regarded his pastor sourly from under puckered brows.

"Some s'prised to see _you_, dominie," said he. "Thought you was
generally occupied at your desk of a Friday morning."

The minister included Lydia Orr in the genial warmth of his smile as
he replied:

"I had a special call into the country this morning, and seeing your
conveyance hitched to the trees outside, Deacon, I thought I'd step
in. I'm not sure it's altogether safe for all of us to be standing in
the middle of this big room, though. Sills pretty well rotted
out--eh, Deacon?"

"Sound as an oak," snarled the Deacon. "As I was telling th' young
lady, there ain't no better built house anywheres 'round than this