behind him, and held his stick, "if John Ward has a garden? I hope so;
Helen is so fond of flowers. But he never said anything about it; he just
went around as though he was in a dream. He was perfectly happy if he
could only look at Helen!"

"Well, that's right," said the rector; "that's proper. What else would
you have? The fact is, Lois, you don't like Ward. Now, he is a good
fellow; yes, good is just the word for him. Bless my soul, there's a
pitch of virtue about him that is exhausting. But that's our fault," he
added candidly.

"Oh, I'll like him," Lois said quickly, "if he will just make Helen
happy."

The rector shook his head. "I know how you feel," he said, "and I
acknowledge he is odd; that talk of his last night about slavery being
a righteous institution"--

"Oh, he didn't say that, father," Lois interrupted.

--"was preposterous," continued Dr. Howe, not noticing her; "but
he's earnest, he's sincere, and I have a great deal of respect for
earnestness. And look here, Lois, you must not let anybody see you are
not in sympathy with Helen's choice; be careful of that tongue of yours,
child. It's bad taste to make one's private disappointments public. I
wouldn't speak of it even to your aunt Deely, if I were you."

He stooped down to pull some matted grass from about the roots of a
laburnum-tree, whose dark leaves were lighted by golden loops of
blossoms, "Thirty-eight years ago," he said, "your mother and I planted