But when the gayety was over, and the bride and groom drove off in great state, Miss Lydia waved to them from her front door, and then stood looking after the carriage with strange pitifulness in her face. How much they had missed, these two who, instead of the joy and wonder and mystery of going away together into their new world, were driving off, scarcely speaking to each other, tasting on their young lips the stale bitterness of stolen fruit! After the carriage was out of sight Miss Lydia walked down the road to the rectory, carrying, as was the habit of her exasperatingly generous poverty when calling on her friends, a present, a tumbler of currant jelly for Doctor Lavendar. But when the old man remonstrated, she did not, as usual, begin to excuse herself. She only said, point-blank: "Doctor Lavendar, is it ever right to tell lies to save other people?" Doctor Lavendar, jingling the happy bridegroom's two gold pieces in his pocket, said: "What? What?" "Not to save yourself," said Miss Lydia; "I know you can't tell lies to save yourself." Doctor Lavendar stopped jingling his gold pieces and frowned; then he said: "Miss Lydia, the truth about ourselves is the only safe way to live. If other folks want to be safe let them tell their own truths. It doesn't often help them for us to do it for 'em. My own principle has been not to tell a lie about other folks' affairs, but to reserve the truth. Understand?" "I think I do," said Miss Lydia, faintly, "but it's difficult." Doctor Lavendar looked at his two gold pieces thoughtfully. "Lydia," he said, "it's like walking on a tight rope." Then he chuckled, dismissed the subject, and spread out his eagles on the table. "Look at 'em! Aren't they pretty? You see how glad Mary's young man was to get her. I'll go halves with you!" Her recoil as he handed her one of the gold pieces made him give her a keen look; but all she said was: "Oh _no_! I wouldn't touch it!" Then she seemed to get herself together: "I don't need it, thank you, sir," she said. When she went away Doctor Lavendar, looking after her, thrust out his lower lip. "_Lydia_ not 'need' an eagle?" he said. "How long since?" And after a while he added, "Now, what on earth--?" Old Chester, too, said, "What on earth--?" when, in December, Miss Lydia turned the key in her front door and, with her carpetbag and bandbox, took the morning stage for Mercer. And we said it again, a few weeks later, when Mrs. Barkley received a letter in which Miss Lydia said she had been visiting friends in Indiana and had been asked by them to take care of a beautiful baby boy, and she was bringing him home with her, and she hoped Mrs. Barkley would give her some advice about taking care of babies, for she was afraid she didn't know much--("'Much'?" Mrs. Barkley snorted. "She knows as much about babies as a wildcat knows about tatting!")--and she was, as ever, Mrs. Barkley's affectionate Lyddy.