"Well, well, well," said Dr. Lavendar, blinking and chuckling with pleasure; then he read Ellen's little note. "I had to tell you myself," Ellen wrote him, "because I am so happy." And then there were a dozen lines in which her heart overflowed to this old friend. "Dear child, dear child," he murmured to himself. To no one but Dr. Lavendar--queer, grizzled, wrinkled old Dr. Lavendar, with never a romance or a love-affair that anybody had ever heard of--could Miss Ellen have showed her heart. Even Mr. Spangler did not know that heart as Dr. Lavendar did when he finished Ellen's little letter.--And Dr. Lavendar didn't tell. "I am so happy," said Miss Ellen. Dr. Lavendar may have looked at Mr. Spangler and wondered at the happiness. But, after all, wonder, on somebody's part, is a feature of every engagement. And if the wonder is caused only by the man's coat, and not by his character, why be distressed about it? Mr. Spangler was an honest man; if his mind was narrow, it was at least sincere; if his heart was timid, it was very kind; if his nature was lazy, it was clean and harmless. So why shouldn't Ellen Baily love him? And why shouldn't Dr. Lavendar bubble over with happiness in Ellen's happiness? "She's the best girl in the world," he told Mr. Spangler. "I congratulate you. She's a good child--a good child." Mr. Spangler agreed, in a somewhat solemn manner. "But David--how about David?" "My house shall always be open to Mrs. Spangler's relatives," said Mr. Spangler, with Christian pride. "You are a good fellow, Spangler," Dr. Lavendar said; and listened, chuckling, to Mr. Spangler's awkward and correct expressions of bliss. For indeed he was very happy, and talked about Miss Ellen's virtues (which so eminently qualified her to become his wife), as fatuously as any lover could. "Hi, you, Danny," said Dr. Lavendar, after half an hour of it, "stop growling." "There's somebody at the door," said Augustus Spangler, and went into the entry to see who it was. He came back with a letter, which he read, standing by the table; then he sat down and looked white. Dr. Lavendar, joyously, was singing to himself: "'Ten-cent Jimmy and his minions Cannot down the Woolly Horse.' "Spangler, we must drink to your very good health and prospects. Let's have Mary bring the glasses." "I fear," said Mr. Spangler--he stopped, his voice unsteady. "I regret--" "Hullo!" said Dr. Lavendar, looking at him over his spectacles; "what's wrong?" "I'm extremely sorry to say," said poor Mr. Spangler, "that--it can't be." "A good glass of wine," said Dr. Lavendar, "never hurt--" "I refer," said Mr. Spangler, sighing, "to my relations with Miss Ellen Baily." Dr. Lavendar looked at him blankly. "I have just received a letter," the poor man went on, "in which she informs me that it can never be." His lip trembled, but he held himself very straight and placed the letter in his breast-pocket with dignity.