"I'll go," said Dowden, quickly. He got his coat and hat from a table in
the hall, and we rejoined the huddled and shivering group at the gate.

"Got my recruit, gents!" shrilled Peck, slapping Dowden boisterously on
the shoulders. "I reckon he'll git a change of heart to-night!"

And now, sheltering my eyes from the stinging wind, I saw what I had
been too blind to see as we approached Mrs. Apperthwaite's. Beasley's
house WAS illuminated; every window, up stairs and down, was aglow with
rosy light. That was luminously evident, although the shades were
lowered.

"Look at that!" Peck turned to Dowden, giggling triumphantly. "Wha'd I
tell you! How do you feel about it NOW?"

"But where are the hacks?" asked Dowden, gravely.

"Folks all come," answered Mr. Peck, with complete assurance. "Won't be
no more hacks till they begin to go home."

We plunged ahead as far as the corner of Beasley's fence, where Peck
stopped us again, and we drew together, slapping our hands and stamping
our feet. Peck was delighted--a thoroughly happy man; his sour giggle of
exultation had become continuous, and the same jovial break was audible
in Grist's voice as he said to the "Journal" reporter and me:

"Go ahead, boys. Git your story. We'll wait here fer you."

The "Journal" reporter started toward the gate; he had gone, perhaps,
twenty feet when Simeon Peck whistled in sharp warning. The reporter