the time that strange live thing kept sticking up its head and
putting out its tongue at me, and neither of them noticed it.

"It's getting on toward six," said Mrs. Wood; "we must be going
home. Come, Mr. Maxwell."

The young man put the guinea pig in his pocket, picked up his
crutches, and we started down the sunny village street. He left his
guinea pig at his boarding house as he went by, but he said nothing
about the other creature, so I knew he did not know it was there.

I was very much taken with Mr. Maxwell. He seemed so bright and
happy, in spite of his lameness, which kept him from running
about like other young men. He looked a little older than Miss
Laura, and one day, a week or two later, when they were sitting on
the veranda, I heard him tell her that he was just nineteen. He told
her, too, that his lameness made him love animals. They never
laughed at him, or slighted him, or got impatient, because he could
not walk quickly. They were always good to him, and he said he
loved all animals while he liked very few people.

On this day as he was limping along, he said to Mrs. Wood: "I am
getting more absent-minded every day. Have you heard of my
latest escapade?"

"No," she said.

"I am glad," he replied. "I was afraid that it would be all over the
village by this time. I went to church last Sunday with my poor
guinea pig in my pocket. He hasn't been well, and I was attending