village was quite aware of their existence.
Then one day in May, Dr. Lavendar's
sagging old buggy pulled up at
their gate, and the old minister
called over the garden wall to Philippa:
"Won't you give me some of your apple
blossoms?"

That was the beginning of Old Chester's
knowledge of the Roberts family.
A little later Perryville came to know
them, too: the Rev. John Fenn, pastor
of the Perryville Presbyterian Church,
got off his big, raw-boned Kentucky
horse at the same little white gate in
the brick wall at which Goliath had
stopped, and walked solemnly--not
noticing the apple blossoms--up to the
porch. Henry Roberts was sitting there
in the hot twilight, with a curious
listening look in his face--a look of
waiting expectation; it was so marked, that
the caller involuntarily glanced over his
shoulder to see if any other visitor was
approaching; but there was nothing to
be seen in the dusk but the roan nibbling
at the hitching-post. Mr. Fenn said
that he had called to inquire whether
Mr. Roberts was a regular attendant
at any place of worship. To which the