Miss Manning held up a twig on which twin, luscious apricots glowed. "They were ripened by the hot suns and spiced by Pacific breezes in lower California, where I have a friend who now and then sends a hamper from his fruit farm. Beauties, are they not? My old gardener Amos, jealous of the fame of his own orchard, snorted contemptuously and assured me they tasted like stale sawdust." "Does he still employ David, St. Paul, and the prophets as proxies to curse his enemies?" asked Professor Cleveden, helping himself liberally to cherries. Catching sight of Eliza Mitchell's rebuking eyes, Mr. Herriott laughed. "Yes, he sternly restricts his imprecations to Biblical quotations. When I was a boy I ruined some very rare tulips by setting mole traps in the border, and in his rage he called on 'fat bulls of Bashan' to gore me. Years later I imported a stock of pigeons, and when they literally devoured his early crop of sweet peas, he seized me by the coat collar, showed me the havoc, and shouted, 'May the Angel of the Lord chase you and your devilish English thieves.' He has tyrannized over us all so long, that his wrath knew no bounds when my amiable young stepmother, who desired some alterations in the hothouse, defied his arguments and wishes, and insisted on an annex for orchids that necessitated the removal of his pet carnations. Whereupon, raising his hand, he shook it furiously and hissed: 'Madam, you have done me much evil. May the Lord requite you according to your works!' With tears in her eyes Nina fled to my father." "A grumpy curmudgeon is old Amos Lea, but his religious convictions are so earnest that I would sooner house a swarm of wasps inside my vest than tread on his Baptist toes. He objects strenuously to my association with Herriott, having overheard some of our heretical geologic discussions as we strolled through the gardens, and he eyes me as if I were the foul fiend at Herriott's heels, prodding him downward with a pitchfork. I wish that somewhere in the great outside world I had such a loyal, godly friend to pray for my soul." "Dear me! I thought you scientists disdained such a superstition, and that you had reduced souls and minds to mere 'reflex sensory' action, and 'cerebral sinuosities,' and 'psychoplasm,' and 'inherited instincts,' and deposits of phosphorus?" interjected Miss Roberts, as she dipped her jewelled hand into her finger bowl to bruise the lemon blossoms. "My dear young lady, pray do not join the multitude in stoning the prophets. If there be ghosts--blessed are the grammarians who invented a subjunctive mood--those of martyred students of science will one day haunt you, more terrible than 'an army with banners.' Herriott is a much more attractive target than I--younger and handsomer--why not call him into the witness box and swear him on the case of souls?"