As he spoke, the look of fear on his listener's face passed away. "Be quiet, Flirt!" she said to the little dog, who kept alternately growling and yapping to herself, and then, turning to Jackson: "Yes, you did startle me at first. So you are Mr. Jackson. My husband--that is, Dr. Smalley--said he met you to-day," and she smiled as if she was thinking of something that amused her. "This," she continued with a little wave of the hand, "is the school, and we live next door. If you will kindly come in by that door to your left you can help me to shut the musical box, and then I will take you right away to my husband, and he will see you through the wilderness to your home." The slight American accent in her voice lent her words a piquant charm, and it was with a true American's ready resourcefulness that she carried on the conversation with Jackson and attempted to take stock of him at the same time as he stood outside, half in shadow and half in light. "It is very kind of you," said Peregrine gratefully, and he made toward the door, delighted with the lucky accident that had brought him this adventure. Nevertheless, the words "my husband" did not please him. So this beautiful creature was Smalley's wife! "I wonder," he muttered to himself, "if marriages are really made in heaven, why they don't assort people better." There was, however, no more time for regretful reflection, for the door was opened by his involuntary hostess, and they walked up to the dais together. As Jackson closed the organ Mrs. Smalley looked at him from under her long lashes, and a faint colour stole into her cheeks. She stood by placidly, however, holding a large hymn book in her hand and saying nothing. When he had finished, she spoke: "Now you can carry the light and come along--tchick, Flirtie!" And they went into the garden, Peregrine full of pleasure at being ordered about in this unceremonious manner, and his companion walking demurely beside him. A few steps brought them to the parsonage; the Reverend Habakkuk was summoned from the interior and matters explained to him. He hospitably pressed Jackson to stay and have some refreshment, but Peregrine noticed an impatient look in his hostess's face and declined. Smalley determined to lead Peregrine back himself, notwithstanding his protestations that all he wanted was a few simple directions, and, putting on a wide felt hat, turned to his wife, "I shall be back soon, Ruys; do not wait for me." "Good-night, Mrs. Smalley." For the life of him Peregrine could not help throwing a shade of regret into the last words, and an odd light came into his listener's eyes. "Good-night, Mr. Jackson. I am--we both are--_so_ glad you _lost_ your way here. I trust you will in future be able to find it often." She made a demure little courtesy as she said this in an even voice, and Jackson and his host passed out of the house.