Ennison,” she exclaimed, “is that really you?” There was no sign of embarrassment in her manner. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. "It's a mysterious transaction altogether. Without stopping to inquire into the cause of their mirth, or even to ask the names of his guests, the worthy carpenter shook hands with the one-eyed chapmen, slapped Mr. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief.
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