Gradually, however, all returned to the out-door world and its
interests. The fences became so many posts and rails once more, the
bushes so many elders and blackberries to be cut away, and the
half-green fields so much sod for corn-ground. Opinions in regard to
the weather and the progress of spring labor were freely interchanged,
and the few unimportant items of social news, which had collected in
seven days, were gravely distributed. This was at the men's end of the
meeting-house; on their side, the women were similarly occupied, but we
can only conjecture the subjects of their conversation. The young
men--as is generally the case in religious sects of a rigid and
clannish character--were by no means handsome. Their faces all bore the
stamp of _repression_, in some form or other, and as they talked their
eyes wandered with an expression of melancholy longing and timidity
towards the sweet, maidenly faces, whose bloom, and pure, gentle beauty
not even their hideous bonnets could obscure.

One by one the elder men came up to the stone platform with the stable
old horses which their wives were to ride home; the huge chair, in which
sat a privileged couple, creaked and swayed from side to side, as it
rolled with ponderous dignity from the yard; and now, while the girls
were waiting their turn, the grave young men plucked up courage,
wandered nearer, greeted, exchanged words, and so were helped into an
atmosphere of youth.

Gilbert, approaching with them, was first recognized by his old friend,
Sally Fairthorn, whose voice of salutation was so loud and cheery, as to
cause two or three sedate old "women-friends" to turn their heads in
grave astonishment. Mother Fairthorn, with her bright, round face,
followed, and then--serene and strong in her gentle, symmetrical
loveliness--Martha Deane. Gilbert's hand throbbed, as he held hers a