Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed look
on his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times,
but said nothing till they were back in the finishing-room.

Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever since
his mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumb
sperit, just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see you
righted, or I'll give you my head."

Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of little
use to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed and
disappointed. She hardly knew what she had expected, but it was
something very different from this calm, every-day reception, this
total disregard of her own and her companion's excitement.

"I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily.
"What was that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw any
paste like that, did you?

"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan't
nothin' like stones--nor glass neither. You may run me through the
calenders if I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" he
added, vehemently. "I done right to tell you to go to him. He's in
one of his moods to-day, but you'll hear from him, if there's
anything to hear, now mark my words! And now I'd go home, if I was
you, and see your ma'am, and get your dinner. And--Mary--I dono as
I'd say anything about this, if I was you. Things get round so in a
mill, ye know."

Mary nodded assurance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing of