change of air and scene, you know."

"I'm sure I hope so," said Alice, honestly enough. "If you do go on to
New York, I suppose you'll go by the river-boat. Everybody talks so much
of that beautiful sail down the Hudson."

"That's an idea!" exclaimed Theron, welcoming it with enthusiasm. "It
hadn't occurred to me. If I do have to go, and it is as lovely as they
make out, the next time I promise I won't go without you, my girl. I
HAVE been rather out of sorts lately," he continued. "When I come back,
I daresay I shall be feeling better, more like my old self. Then I'm
going to try, Alice, to be nicer to you than I have been of late. I'm
afraid there was only too much truth in what you said this morning."

"Never mind what I said this morning--or any other time," broke in
Alice, softly. "Don't ever remember it again, Theron, if only--only--"

He rose as she spoke, moved round the table to where she sat, and,
bending over her, stopped the faltering sentence with a kiss. When was
it, he wondered, that he had last kissed her? It seemed years, ages,
ago.

An hour later, with hat and overcoat on, and his valise in his hand, he
stood on the doorstep of the parsonage, and kissed her once more before
he turned and descended into the darkness. He felt like whistling as his
feet sounded firmly on the plank sidewalk beyond the gate. It seemed as
if he had never been in such capital good spirits before in his life.