unfortunately I am tied by the leg." He should have to leave Octavius,
leave the ministry, leave everything. He could not begin too soon to
face these contingencies.

Very likely Celia had not thought it out as far as this. With her,
it was a mere vague "sometime I may." But the harder masculine sense,
Theron felt, existed for the very purpose of correcting and giving point
to these loose feminine notions of time and space. It was for him to
clear away the obstacles, and map the plans out with definite decision.

One warm afternoon, as he lolled in his easy-chair under the open
window of his study, musing upon the ever-shifting phases of this vast,
complicated, urgent problem, some chance words from the sidewalk in
front came to his ears, and, coming, remained to clarify his thoughts.

Two ladies whose voices were strange to him had stopped--as so many
people almost daily stopped--to admire the garden of the parsonage. One
of them expressed her pleasure in general terms. Said the other--

"My husband declares those dahlias alone couldn't be matched for thirty
dollars, and that some of those gladiolus must have cost three or four
dollars apiece. I know we've spent simply oceans of money on our garden,
and it doesn't begin to compare with this."

"It seems like a sinful waste to me," said her companion.

"No-o," the other hesitated. "No, I don't think quite that--if you can
afford it just as well as not. But it does seem to me that I'd rather
live in a little better house, and not spend it ALL on flowers. Just
LOOK at that cactus!"