"Yes," I answered, listening deliberately. "Do you suppose that the time will ever come when she to whom I once gave the love of my young heart, and all that sort of thing, you know, will take me in hand, and dye my hair, and rig me up, and make such an infernal-looking old guy of me?" "I don't see how you can escape," I said. "But you won't care so much, then." "No, that's true." Mr. Rollin sighed deeply "I shall be old, then;-- 'When I am old, I shall not care To deck with flowers my faded hair.'" The idea of Mr. Rollin decking his hair with flowers was a specially entertaining one to me. Presently, he continued:-- "To descend for a moment to secular subjects--I've got my own horses here now, Miss Hungerford. I had my man Bob bring them down from Providence. They got here last night, and they're a pair of spankers, too, if I do say it that shouldn't, as the phrase is. That was one of the inducements which led me to follow your--to follow Captain Keeler's example in coming to church this morning. And now I have a calm, serious, and reasonable proposal to make. No doubt we are both familiar with the small conventionalities of life, but on such a day as this, and with such a glorious air outside, and such a unique framework of society--everything delightfully pagan--scruples worthy only of small consideration at any time should be thrown aside. I don't know what perils you encountered on your way to church this morning, in the canvas-covered vehicle. But, if you will drive back to Wallencamp with me, I promise to take you there fleetly and safely, and you may have the consciousness, besides, if you care for it, that you have made the day one of spiritual reclamation to an erring fellow-creature." [Illustration: VISITORS' DAY AT THE WALLENCAMP SCHOOL-HOUSE. Scene from the Play.] The Sunday-school had risen to its feet and was slowly droning "Yield not to temptation," etc. The situation was odd enough. Mr. Rollin's repressed laughing voice was in my ear: "Will you yield?" and I yielded. At the close of the Sunday-school, as we were going out of the church, I told Grandma that I should drive home with Emily's fisherman. She drew me gravely to one side. "We shall be very sorry to lose your company, teacher," she said; "only we hadn't ought to lose no precious opportunity, and I do hope as you'll labor for that young man's soul." I felt hopelessly conscience-stricken. We drove home through "Lost Cedars"--a good many miles out of the ordinary course--and I was cheerfully consenting to the divergence. Wild and tenantless, in the midst of a wild and tenantless landscape, Lost Cedars wore that air of lovely, though utter, desolation which might easily have suggested its name. There was a still unfrozen lake, which the setting sun, more like the sun of an Italian winter than of rugged New England, was painting in gorgeous colors, when we reached the place.