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Miranda reached home on the afternoon coach and bounced into the house with a face full of importance.

"Wal, I'm glad to git back. Did you find the blueberry pies? I put 'em out the pantry winder to cool, an' fergot 'em. I thought of 'em when I was on the boat, but 'twas mos' too late to come back then, so I kep' on.

"Here's my balzarine. Do yeh like it ? "and she tossed the bundle into Marcia's lap. "I'm goin' right at it when I git the work done in the mornin' fer I want to hev it t' wear at Phoebe Deane's weddin'. Did yeh know she was goin' to marry Nathaniel Graham ? Say, where's that Rose ? I'm most starved fer a sight o' her little sweet face. Yer lookin' real good yerself. All's well ? "

Marcia listened smilingly to Miranda's torrent of words, and gradually drew the whole story from her handmaid, laughing heartily over the various episodes of Miranda's journey and gravely tender over what Nathaniel had said. Then Miranda heard about Marcia's call on Phoebe, and how she had written Phrcbe a letter asking what she could do to help her, and inviting her to come at once to them, but had received no answer.

"An' yeh won't, neither,"said Miranda, decidedly. "She'll never git no letter, I'm sure o' that. Ef that old skunk of a Hiram Green don't git it fust, Mis' Deane'll ferret it out an' keep it from her. She's the meanest thing in the shape of a woman I've seen yit, an' I've lied some experience."

Then Miranda rapidly sketched her plan of procedure, and Marcia added some suggestions. Together they prepared the supper, with the single object of getting Miranda off to Phcobe as soon as the darkness should come.

It was quite dark and Phoebe was lying in a still white heap upon her bed when Miranda stole softly in. By her side lay a long white package she had taken from her little trunk in the closet, and on it was pinned a note. "Dear Miranda, if I die, please take this, from Phoebe."

She had not lighted her candle, and she had not eaten a mouthful all day. The terrible faintness and weakness were becoming constant now. She could only lie on her bed and wait. She could not even think any more. The enemies all about her with their terrible darts had pierced her soul, and her life seemed ebbing away. She felt it going, and did not have the desire to stop it. It was good to be at rest.

Miranda stole in softly, and began to move quietly about the room, finding the candle and softly striking the flint and tinder. Phoebe became gradually conscious of her presence, as out of the midst of a misty dream. Then Miranda came and looked down tenderly into her face.

"Eaise yer head up, you poor little thing, an' drink this,"whispered Miranda, putting a bottle of strong cordial to her lips, that she had taken the precaution to bring with her. "I've got two o' the nicest letters fer yeh that ever was writ, an' another one from my Mrs. Marcia, an' ef yeh don't git some color into them cheeks, an' some brightness into them eyes now, my name ain't Mirandy."

Miranda handed out the letters one at a time, in their order.

She brought the candle, and Phoebe with her trembling hands opened the first, recognizing the handwriting, and then sat up and read with bated breath.

"Oh, Miranda,"she said, looking up with a faint color in her cheeks, "he has asked me to marry him. Wouldn't it be beautiful! But he didn't know when he wrote it——"

and the brown head went down as if it were stricken like a lily before a fierce blast.

"Shucks!"said Miranda, dabbing away the mistiness from her eyes. "Yes, he did know, too. His cousin wrote him. Here, you read the other one."

Again Phoebe sat up and read, while Miranda held the candle and tried not to seem to look over her shoulder at the words she could feel in her soul if she could not see with her eyes.

"Oh, it can't be true!"said Phoebe, with face aglow with something that almost seemed the light of another world. "And I mustn't let him, of course. It wouldn't be right for him to have a wife like this——"

"Shucks! "said Miranda again. "Yes, 'tis true, too, and right an' all the rest, an' you've got to set up and get spry, fer there's a sight to do, an' I can't stay much longer. That weddin' 's comin' off on Monday morning'—time set fer it. 'Tain't good luck to put off weddin's an' this one 's goin' to go through all right."

"Mr. Nathaniel, he's goin' to bring his cousin an' the Jedge, an' my Mr. David an' Mrs. Marcia's comin' wether they're ast er not, 'cause they knew 'twant no use fer um to wait fer an invite from that sister-in-law of yourn, so they're comin' anyway. Mr. Nathaniel said as how you weren't to worry. He'll git here Saturday night sure, an' ef there was any other 'rangement you'd like to make he was ready, an' you could send your word by me, but he 'greed with me 'twould make less talk ef the weddin' come off at your home where 'twas to be in the fust place, an' then you could go right away from here an' never come back no more. Say, hev ye got anythin' thet's fit to wear? 'Cause ef yeh ain't I'll let yeh have my new balzarine to wear. I'll hev it all done by Sat'day night. Mrs. Marcia's goin' to help me."

Between tears and smiles Phoebe came to herself. Miranda fed her with some strong broth which she had brought along and which she managed to heat after laboriously holding the pail over the candle name. Then together in the dim candle-light the two girls opened the great white box that lay on the floor beside the bed.

"It's my wedding dress, Miranda. Mother made it for me long ago, before she died, and put it in my trunk to keep for me. It was marked, ' For my little girl when she is going to be married.'

"I opened it and found the letter on the top, for I thought I was going to die, and I wanted to read mother's last letter, but I did not take the frock out because I thought I would never wear it, and it made me feel so bad that I left it in its wrappings. I thought if I died I would like to have you have it, because it is the most precious thing I have and you have done more for me than anybody else ever did, but mother."

Miranda gulped a sudden unexpected sob at this tribute, and it was some time before she could recover her equanimity, though she said "Shucks!"several times.

They took the white bridal garment out of its wrappings and Phoebe tried it on, there in the dimness of the room. It was thin white book-muslin, all daintily embroidered about the neck and sleeves by the dead mother's hand. It fell in soft sheer folds about the white-faced girl, and made her look as if she were just going to take her flight to another world.

In another paper was the veil of fine thread lace, simple and beautiful, and a pair of white gloves which had been the mother's, both yellow with age, and breathing a perfume of lavender. A pair of dainty little white slippers lay in the bottom of the box, wrapped in tissue paper also. Miranda's eyes shone.

"Now you look like the right kind of a bride,"she said, standing back and surveying her charge. "That's better 'n all the balzarines in New York."

"You shall wear the balzarine and stand up with me, Miranda,"whispered Phoebe, smiling.

"No, sir! We ain't goin't to hev this here weddin' spoiled by no red hair an' freckles, even if 't has got a balzarine. Janet Bristol's got to stan' up. She'll make a picter fer folks to talk 'bout. Mr. Nathaniel said he'd manage his cousin all right, an' 'twould quiet the talk down ef his folks took sides along of you. No, sir, I ain't goin' to do no standin' in this show. I'm goin' to set, an' take it all in. Come now, you get into bed, an' I'll blow out the light an' go home. I reckon I'll be back to-morrer night to take any messages you want took. They'll be plenty o' chance fer you to rest 'fore Monday. Don't say nothin' to yer folks. Let 'em go on with their plans, an' then kinder s'prise 'em."

The next morning Phoebe arose and feeling much refreshed dressed herself carefully and went downstairs. She had a quiet, grave look upon her face, but in her eyes there was a strange light which she could not keep back. Emmeline looked up in surprise when Phoebe came and took hold with the work. She began to say something slighting, but the look in Phoebe's face somehow stopped her. It was a look of joyful exaltation; and Emmeline, firmly believing that the girl was justly talked about, could not understand, and thought it hypocrisy.

Albert came in in a few minutes, and looked relieved.

"Well, Phoebe, I'm glad you've made up your mind to act sensibly, and come downstairs. It wasn't right to fight against what had to be and every one of us knew was for the best,"he said.

Phoebe did not answer. In spite of the help that was coming to her it hurt her that Albert believed the slander against her, and the tears came into her eyes as he spoke. Emmeline saw them and spoke up in a sermonizing tone:

"It's right she should feel her shame and repent, Albert. Don't go an' soft-soap it over es ef she hadn't done nothin' to feel sorry fer."

Then Phoebe spoke.

"I have done nothing to feel sorry for, Emmeline. I have not sinned. I am only sorry that you have been willing to believe all this against me."

Then she went quietly on with her work, and said no more, though Emmeline's speech was unsealed and she gave Phoebe much good advice during the course of the day.

The next morning near church time Emmeline told Phoebe that Hiram was coming over to see her that morning, and she might open the front parlor to receive him.

"I don't wish to see Hiram, Emmeline,"she answered, calmly. "I have nothing whatever to say to him."

"Well, upon my word, Phoebe Deane,"said Emmeline, getting red in the face with indignation over the girl. "Goin' to git married to-morrow mornin' an' not wantin' to see Hiram Green! I should think you'd want to talk over 'rangements."

"Yes, I am going to be married to-morrow morning,"said Phoebe, with a triumphant ring to her voice, "but I do not want to see Hiram Green. I have no arrangements to talk over with him. My arrangements are all made."

Phoebe went away to her room and remained there the rest of the day.

Nathaniel had arrived. She knew that by special messenger coming and going over the wood-shed roof. There had been sweet messages of cheer, and he had promised to come for her in the morning. Everything was arranged. She could possess her soul in peace and quietness and wait. Her enemies would soon be put to flight. Nathaniel had promised her that, and although she could not see in the least how, she trusted him perfectly.

She had sent her love to him and the locket with her mother's picture. It was all she had to give her lover, and he understood. It was the one she had worn the first time he ever saw her.

The balzarine frock was finished. The last hook was set in place before supper Saturday night, and Marcia had pronounced it very becoming. It was finished in spite of the fact that Miranda had made several secret excursions into the region of Hiram Green's house and farm. She had made discoveries which she told to no one, but over which she chuckled when quite alone in the kitchen at work. On her first trip she had seen him go out to his milking, and had passed close to the house, where his window was open. She had glanced in, and there on the sill her sharp eyes had discovered the bit of red seal with the lion's head upon it. She had carried too many letters with that seal not to know it at once, and she gleefully seized it and carried it to Nathaniel. She had evidence at last which would give her power over the enemy.

She also discovered that Hiram Green attended to his milking himself, and that he had a habit—if one might judge from two mornings as samples—of going to the spring- house himself with the milk and placing the pans on the great stone shelf. This she had seen by judicious hiding behind shrubbery, and trees, and spring-house itself, and spying upon him. Birds and squirrels tell no tales, and the dewy grass soon dried off and left no trace of her footsteps. During one of these excursions she had examined the fastening of the spring-house most carefully, and knew the possibilities of button, hasp, staple, and peg.

The Spaffords and Miranda went to church as usual, and so did the Bristols. The advent of Nathaniel and his friend Mr. Van Rensselaer in the Bristol pew diverted attention from the empty seat behind them, for this morning the Deanes were conspicuous by their absence.

The day passed quietly. Miranda made her usual visit in the early evening. Phoebe had asked her to stay with her, but Miranda said she had some things to do, and departed sooner than usual. The night settled into stillness and Phoebe slept in joyous assurance that it was her last night in the room where she had seen so much sorrow.

In the morning she went down to breakfast as usual. She did not eat much, to be sure, but drank some milk, and then washed the breakfast dishes as calmly as if she expected to keep on washing them all the rest of her life in this same kitchen.

"Hiram'll be over 'bout half past nine, I reckon,"said Albert. He had been instructed by Emmeline to say this. "The minister won't come till ten. If you need to talk to Hiram you'll have plenty of time between. You better be all ready."

"I shall not need to talk to Hiram,"said Phoebe, as she hung up the dish towels. There was that in her voice as she said it that made Albert look after her wonderingly.

"She's the queerest girl I ever see! "grumbled Emmeline. "One would think by her looks that she expected a chariot of fire to come down an' take her straight up to heaven, like 'Lijah. It's kind of dreadful the way she ac's! 'F I was Hiram I'd be 'fraid to marry her."

Miranda arrived over the shed roof soon after Phoebe went upstairs. She wore her old calico, andl if one who knew had observed closely, he would have said it was a calico that Miranda never used any more, for it was very old. Her hair was combed with precision and on her head was an elaborate New York bonnet with a white barege veil, but her balzarine was in a bundle under her arm. It was not calculated for roof travel. It was well for their plans that the shed roof was back and well hidden from the kitchen door, else Miranda might have been discovered.

"There! Emmeline can hev that f er a floor cloth,"said Miranda, as she flung her old calico in the corner. "I don't calc'late to return fer it."She fastened her balzarine with satisfaction, adjusted her muslin shoulder cape, her bonnet, and mantilla, the latter a gift from Mrs. Spafford, laid her new sunshade on a chair, and pronounced herself ready.

"Has Hiram Green come yet ? "asked Phoebe, anxiously. She was dreading a scene with Hiram.

"Wal, no, not 'zactly,"said Miranda. "An what's more, I don't think he will. Fact is I've got him fixed fer a spell, but I ain't goin' to say nothin' more 'bout it at present, 'cept that he's detained by bus'ness elsewhar. It's best you shouldn't know nothin' 'bout it ef there's questions ast, but you don't need to worry. 'Less sompin' quite unusual happens he ain't likely to turn up till after the ceremony. Now, whafs to do to you yet? Them hooks all fastened ? My, but you do look han'some!"

"Oh, Miranda, you haven't done anything dreadful, have you?"

"No, I ain't,"laughed Miranda. "You'd jest split your sides laughin' ef you could see him 'bout now. But there! Don't say 'nother word. I hear voices. The Bristols hev come, an' the minister, too. I reckon your sister-in-law!! hev her hands full slammin' the door in all them faces."

Phoebe, aghast, pulled the curtain aside and peered out.

There in the yard were several carriages, and more driving in the gate. She could hear a great many voices all at once. She saw Mrs. Duzenberry and Susanna getting out of their chaise, and Lemuel Skinner and his wife Hannah, and she thought she heard the village dressmaker's voice high above all, sharp and rasping, the way it always was when she said: "That seam needs preesin'. It does hike up a mite, but it'll be all right when it's pressed."

Phoebe retreated in dismay from the window.

"Oh, Miranda! How did all those people get down there! Emmeline will be so angry. She is in her room dressing yet. It doesn't seem as if I dared go down."

"Fer the land sake, how should I know ? I s'pose Providence sent 'em, fer they can't say a single word after the ceremony's over. Their mouths'll be all nicely stopped. Don't you worry."

Miranda answered innocently, but for one instant as she looked at Phoebe's frightened face her guilty heart misgave her. Perhaps she had gone a step too far. For it was Miranda who had slipped here and there after church on Sunday and whispered a brief invitation to those who had gossiped the hardest, wording it in such a way that they all thought it was a personal invitation from Phoebe. In every case she had added, "Don't say nothin' till after it's over,"and each thinking himself especially favored had arrived in conscious pride, and as they passed Hiram Green's new house they had remarked to themselves what a fine man he was for sticking to Phoebe in spite of all the talk.

But Miranda never told her part in this, and Emmeline never got done wondering who invited all those people.

Miranda's momentary confusion was covered by a gentle tap on the door, and Phoebe in a flutter rushed to hide her friend:

"I'm afraid it's Emmeline,"she whispered. "She may not let you go down."

"Like to see her keep me up, said Miranda, boldly. "My folks hes come. I ain't 'fraid now,"and she boldly swept the trembling bride out of the way and threw the door open.

Janet Bristol in a silken gown of palest pink entered and walked straight up to Phoebe.

"You dear little thing! "she exclaimed. "How sweet you look. That frock is beautiful and the veil makes you perfect. Nathaniel asked me to bring you this and make you wear it. It was his mother's."

She fastened a rope of pearls around Phoebe's neck and kissed her as a sister might have done.

Miranda stood back and gazed with satisfaction on the scene. All was as it should be. She saw nothing further to be desired. Her compunctions were gone.

"Nathaniel is waiting for you at the foot of the stairs,"whispered Janet. "He has his mother's ring for you. He wanted me to tell you. Come, they are ready. You must go ahead."

Down the stairs went the trembling bride, followed by her bridesmaid. Miranda grasped her precious parasol and tiptoed on behind.

Nathaniel stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for her. Emmeline, with a red and angry face, was waiting on her most unexpected guests and had no time to notice what was going on about her. The original wedding guests, consisting of a row of little Greens and the old housekeeper, were submerged in the Sunday gowns of the new arrivals.

"Where's Hiram,"whispered Albert, in Emmeline's ear, just as she was giving Hiram's Aunt Keziah Dart a seat at the best end of the room.

"Goodness! Ain't he come yet ? I s'posed he was upstairs talkin' to Phoebe. I heard voices."

She wheeled around and there stood the wedding party.

Nathaniel, tall and handsome, with his shy, pale bride upon his arm; Janet, sparkling in her pink gown and enjoying the discomfiture of guests and hostess alike, and smiling over at Martin Van Rensselaer, who stood supporting the bridegroom on the other side; it bewildered Emmeline.

The little assemblage reached out into the front door yard, and peeped curiously in at the doors and windows as if loth to lose the choice scene that was passing. The old minister was talking now and a hush fell over the company.

Anger and amazement held Emmeline still as the ceremony progressed.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together "said the minister, and Emmeline looked around for Hiram. Surely the ceremony was not beginning without him! And who was that girl in white under the veil? Not Phoebe! It could not be Phoebe Deane, who but a few short minutes before had been hanging up her dish towels. Where did she get that veil and frock? What had happened? How did all these people get here? Had Phoebe invited them? And why did not somebody stop it?

"Let him speak now, or forever after hold his peace,"came the words, and Emmeline gave a great gasp and thought of the corner lot opposite the Seceder church.

It was then that Emmeline became conscious of Miranda in her balzarine and New York bonnet, the very impersonation of mischief, standing in the doorway just behind the bride and watching the scene with a face of triumph.

An impulse came to her to charge across the room upon the offending girl and put her out. Here surely was one who had no right in her house and knew it, too. Then all at once she caught the eye of Judge Bristol fixed sternly upon her face, and she became aware of her own countenance and restrained her feelings. For after all it was no mean thing to be allied to the house of Bristol, and to know that the cloud of dishonor which had threatened them was lifted forever. She looked at Judge Bristol's fine face and heavy white hair, and began to swell with conscious pride.

The last "I will"was spoken, the benediction was pronounced, and the hush that followed was broken by Nathaniel's voice.

"I want to say a few words,"he said, "about a terrible mistake that has been made by the people of this village regarding my wife's character. I have made a most thorough investigation of the matter during the last two days and I find that the whole tiling originated in an infamous lie told with intention to harm one who is entirely innocent. I simply wish to say that whoever has spoken against my wife will have to answer to me for his words in a court of justice, and if any of you who are my friends wish to question any of her past actions be kind enough to come directly to me and they will be fully explained, for there is not a thing in her past that will not bear the searching light of purity and truth."

As soon as he had ceased speaking David and Marcia stepped up with congratulations.

There was a little stir among the guests; the guilty ones melted away faster than they had gathered, each one anxious to get out without being noticed.

The Bristol coach, drawn by two white horses, with coachman and footman in livery, drew up before the door, Nathaniel handed Phoebe in and they were driven away in triumph, the guests that they passed shrinking out of sight into their vehicles as far as possible.

Albert and Emmeline looked into each other's dazed faces; then turned to the old housekeeper, and the row of little Greens, their faces abnormally shining from unusual contact with soap and water, and asked in concert:

"But where is Hiram?"

Miranda, as she rode guilelessly in the carryall with Mrs. Spafford, answered the same question from that lady, with:

"Whar d' you s'pose ? I shet him in the spring-house airly this mornin'! "

Then David Spafford laid down upon his knee the reins of the old gray horse, and laughed, loud and long; could not stop laughing; and all day long it kept breaking out, as he remembered Miranda's innocent look, and thought of Hiram Green, wrathful and helpless, shut in his own spring-house while his wedding went on without him.

There was a wedding breakfast elaborate and gay at Judge Bristol's, presided over by Janet, who seemed as happy as though she had planned the match herself, and whose smiling wishes were carried out immediately by Martin Van Kensselaer.

There was one more duty for Nathaniel to perform before he took his bride away to a happier home. He must find and face Hiram Green.

So, leaving Phoebe in the care of Mrs. Spafford and his cousin Janet, and himself accompanied by his uncle, Martin Van Rensselaer, and Lemuel Skinner in the capacity of village constable, he got into the family carryall and drove out to Hiram's farm.

Now Nathaniel had not been idle during the Sabbath which intervened between his coming back to the village and his marriage. Aside from the time he spent at the morning church service, he had been doing a Sabbath day's work which he felt would stand well to his account.

He had carefully questioned several of the best known gossips in the village with regard to the story about Phoebe. He had asked keen questions that gave him a plain clue to the whole diabolical plot.

His first act had been to mount his fast horse, and ride out to Ann Jane Bloodgood's, where he had a full account of Phoebe's visit together with a number of missionary items which would have met with more of his attention at another time. Possessed of several valuable facts he had gone pretty straight to most of the houses which Hiram had visited on the first afternoon when he scattered the seed of scandal, and facing the embarrassed scandal-mongers, Nathaniel had made them tell just who had been the first to speak to them of this. In every case after a careful sifting down each owned that Hiram himself had told them the first word. If Nathaniel had not been a lawyer, and keen at his calling, he might not have been able so well and so quickly to have followed the story to its source, as he did. Possibly his former encounter with Hiram Green, and his knowledge of many of his acts, helped in unravelling the mystery.

The old housekeeper and the little Greens had not been at home long when the carryall drew up in front of the door, and the four men got out.

"I ben everywhar but to the spring-house,"said the housekeeper, shaking her head dolefully, "an' I can't find trace of him nowhar. 'Tain't likely he'd be in the spring- house, fer the door is shet an' fastened. I ken see the button from the buttery winder. It's the way I allus tell when he's comin' in to breakfast. It's my 'pinion he's clared out 'cause he don't want to marry that gal, that's what I think."

"When did you last see Mr. Green ?"questioned the Judge, sternly.

"Why, I seen him take the milk pails an' go down towards the barn to milk, an' I aint' seen him sence. I thought 'twar queer he didn't come eat his breakfast, but he's kinder on- certain thet way, so I hurried up an' got off to he'p Mis' Deane."

"Have the cows been milked ? "The Judge's voice ignored the old woman's elaborate explanations.

"The hired man, he says so. I ain't ben down to look myself."

"Where are the milk pails?"

"Well, now, I ain't thought to look."

"What does he usually do with the milk? He surely has not taken that with him. Did he bring it in? That ought to give us a clue."

"He most gen'rally takes it straight to the spring-house——"began the old woman.

"Let us go to the spring-house,"said Nathaniel.

"I don't see what business 'tis o' yourn,"complained the old woman, but they were already on the way, so after a moment's hesitation she threw her apron around her shoulders and went after them. The row of little Greens followed, a curious and perplexed little procession, ready for any scene of interest that might be about to open before them, even though it involved their unloving father.

It was Lemuel Skinner, with his cherry lips pursed importantly, who stepped forward by virtue of his office, turned the wooden button, drew out the peg, pulled off the hasp, and threw the heavy door open.

Out stumbled Hiram Green, half blinded by the light, and rubbing his eyes.

"Mr. Green, we have called to see you on a matter of importance,"began Lemuel apologetically, quite as if it were the custom to meet householders on the threshold of their spring-houses.

"Sorry I can't wait to hear it,"swaggered Hiram, blinking, and trying to make out who these men were. "I got 'n engagement. Fact is, I'm goin' to be married, an' I'm late a'ready. I'll hev to be excused, Lem!"

"It's quite unnecessary, Mr. Green,"said Lemuel, putting out a detaining hand excitedly; "quite unnecessary, I assure you. The wedding is all over. You're not expected any more."

Hiram stood back and surveyed Lemuel with contempt.

"Gosh Ninety! "he sneered. "How could that be when I wan't thar ? I guess you didn't know I was goin' to marry Phoebe Deane. I'm right sure there wouldn't no one else marry her."

Nathaniel stepped forward, his face white with indignation.

"You are speaking of my wife, Mr. Green,"he said, and his voice was enough to arrest the attention of even the self- complacency of a Hiram Green. "Let me never hear you speak of her in that way again. She did not at any moment in her life intend to marry you. You know that well, though you have tried to weave a web of falsehood about her that would put her in your power. The whole thing is known to me from beginning to end, and I do not intend to let it pass lightly. My wife's good name is everything to me; though it seems you were willing to marry one whom you had yourself defamed."

"I have come here this morning, Mr. Green, to give you your choice between going to jail or going with me at once and taking back all the falsehoods you have told about my wife."

Hiram, in sudden comprehension and fear, glanced around the group, took in the fact of the presence of Judge Bristol; remembered Nathaniel's threat of the year before about bringing him up before his uncle, remembered that Lemuel Skinner was constable; and was filled with consternation.

With the instinct of a coward and a bully he made a sudden lunge forward towards Nathaniel, his fists clenched, and his whole face expressing the fury of a wild animal brought to bay.

"You lie! "he hissed.

But the next instant he lay sprawling at Nathaniel's feet, with Lemuel bustling over him like an excited old hen.

It was Martin Van Rensselaer who had tripped him up just in time.

"Now, gentlemen, gentlemen, don't let's get excited,"cackled Lemuel, laying an ineffective hand on the prostrate Hiram.

"Step aside, Mr. Skinner,"said Nathaniel, towering over Hiram; "let me settle this matter first. Now, sir you may take your choice. Will you go to jail and await your trial for slander or will you come with us to the people before whom you scattered this outrageous scandal, and take it all back?"

"You've made a big mistake,"blustered Hiram. "I never told no stories 'bout Phoebe Deane. It's somebody else 's done it 'ef 'tain't true—I was goin' to marry her to save her reputation."

"How did you think that would save her reputation ? "questioned Judge Bristol, and somehow his voice made cold chills creep down Hiram's spine.

"Why, I—I was goin' to deny everythin' after we was married."

"Your stories don't hang very well together,"remarked the Judge, dryly.

"You will be obliged to deny them now,"said Nathaniel, wrathfully. "Take your choice at once. I'm not sure after all but the best way would be to house you in jail without further delay. It is almost a crime to let such a low-lived scoundrel as you walk at large. No one's reputation will be safe in the hands of a villain like you. Take your choice at once. I will give you two minutes to decide."

Nathaniel took out his watch.

There was silence over the meadow behind the spring- house, but a little bird from a tree up the road called: "Phoe-bee! Phoe-bee! "insistently, and a strange tender light came into Nathaniel's eyes.

"The time is up,"said Nathaniel.

"What do you want me to do?"asked the captive, sullenly.

"I want you to go with me to every house that you visited the day you started this mischief and take it all back. Tell them it was untrue, and that you got it up out of whole cloth for your own evil purposes."

"But I can't tell a lie,"said Hiram, piously.

"Can't you ? Well, it will not be necessary. Come, which will you choose? Do you prefer to go to jail?"

"Gentlemen, I'm in your hands,"whined the coward. "Remember I have little children."

"You should have remembered that yourself, and not brought shame upon them and other innocent beings."It was the Judge who spoke these words, like a sentence in court.

"Where hev I got to go?"

Nathaniel named over the places.

Hiram looked black, and swallowed his mortification.

"Well, I s'pose I've got to go. I'm sure I don't want to lose my good name by goin' to jail."

They set him upon his feet, and the little posse moved slowly up the slope to the house and thence to the carryall.

After they were seated in the carryall, Hiram in the back seat with Lemuel and Martin on either side of him, Nathaniel turned to Hiram.

"Now, Mr. Green, we are going first to your aunt's house, and then around to the other places in order. You are to make the following statement and nothing else. You are to say: ' I have come to take back the lies which I told about Miss Phoebe Deane, and to tell you that they are none of them true. I originated them for my own purposes."

Hiram's face darkened. He looked as if he would like to kill Nathaniel. He reached out a long arm again as if he would strike him but Lemuel clutched him convulsively, while Martin threw his whole weight upon the other side and he subsided.

"You can have from now until we reach the jail to think about it, Mr. Green. If you prefer to go to jail instead you will not be hindered. Mr. Skinner is here to arrest you on my charge if you will not comply with these conditions."

Sullen and silent sat Hiram. He did not raise his eyes to see the curious passers-by as he rode through town.

They looked at Nathaniel and the Judge, driving with solemn mien as if on some portentous errand; they noted the stranger and the constable on either side of the lowering Hiram; and they drew their own conclusions, for the news of the wedding had spread like wild-fire through the village. Then they stood and watched the carryall out of sight, and even followed it to see if it stopped at the jail.

As they drew near the jail Nathaniel turned around once more to Hiram:

"Shall we stop and let you out here, or are you willing to comply with the conditions ? "

Hiram raised his eyelashes and gave a sideways glance at the locality, then lowered them quickly as he encountered the impudent gaze of a small boy and muttered:

"Drive on."

Hiram went through the distasteful ordeal sullenly. He repeated the words which Nathaniel insisted upon, after one or two vain attempts to modify them in his own favor, which only made it worse for him in the eyes of his listeners.

"'Pon my word,"said Aunt Keziah Dart in a mortified tone. "'F I'd uv told fibs like that I'd 'a' stuck to 'em, an' never giv in, no matter what. I'm 'shamed to own I'm kin to sech a sneak, Hiram Green. Wan't there gals 'nough 'round the country 'thout all that to do ? "

At the Duzenberrys Susanna rendered Hiram the sympathy of silently weeping in the background, while the Widow Duzenberry stood coldly in the foreground acting as if the whole performance were a personal affront. She closed the interview by calling after Hiram from her front door.

"I'm sorry to see yeh in trouble, Mister Green. Remember you'll always find a friend here,"and Hiram brightened up some. Nevertheless, there was very little of his old conceit left when he had gone over the whole ground and was finally set free to go his way to his own home.

Then Nathaniel and Phoebe hastened away in the family coach towards Albany to begin their long life journey together.

Late that afternoon Hank Williams coming up from the village brought with him a letter for Hiram Green which he stopped to leave, hoping to find out from Hiram what had happened during the afternoon. The old housekeeper took the letter saying, "Hiram wan't well,"and Hank went onward crestfallen.

A few minutes later Hiram tore open his letter. It read:

"Mistur Grene,

"You hev ben fond out. We want no mor lyres an crimnles in our toun. We hev fond the seels off'n Phoebe Denes leter in yor poseshun an we hev uther good evedens thet you open unitd stats male we will giv yo I wek to sel ot an lev toun ef yo ever sho yer hed agin hear or in Noo York yo wil be tard an fethured an punisht cordin to law. "

"yors fer reveng

"A Feller Tounsman."

That night while his household slept Hiram Green went forth from his home to parts unknown, leaving his little children to the tender mercies of Aunt Keziah Dart or whoever might be touched with a feeling of pity for them.

And Miranda, who, without the counsel or knowledge of anyone, had written the remarkable epistle which sent him out, lay down serenely and slept the sleep of the just.

And that same night the moon shone brightly over the Hudson River, like a path of silver for the two who sat long on deck, talking of how they loved Miranda, with laughter that was nigh to tears.