For the rest of that glowing afternoon, Helena was very happy. She
almost forgot that uncomfortable scene with Sam Wright. She talked
eagerly of Mr. Pryor to David, quite indifferent to the child's lack
of interest. She had many anxious thoughts about what she should wear.
If it was a very hot day, how would her white dimity do? Or the thin
sprigged blue and white? it was so pretty--bunches of blue flowers on
a cross-barred muslin, and made with three flounces and a bertha. She
was wandering about the garden just before tea, trying to decide this
point, when David came to say that a gentleman wanted to see her.
David did not know his name;--he was the old tangled gentleman who
lived in the big house on the hill.

"_Oh!_" Helena said; she caught her lip between her teeth, and
looked at David with frightened eyes. The child was instantly alert.

"I'll run and tell him to go home," he said protectingly.

But she shook her head. "I've got to see him--oh, David!"

The little boy took hold of her skirt, reassuringly; "I'll not let him
hurt you," he said. She hardly noticed that he kept close beside her
all the way to the house.

Mr. Benjamin Wright was sitting on the lowest step of the front porch.
His trembling head was sunk forward on his breast; he did not lift it
at her step, but peered up from under the brim of his dusty beaver
hat; then seeing who it was, he rose, pushing himself up by gripping
at the step behind him and clutching his cane first in one hand, then
in the other. His face like old ivory chiselled into superb lines of
melancholy power, was pallid with fatigue. On his feet, with