Dr. Alton, leading his little son by the hand, was walking beside the parson. Dr. Alton was but little over thirty years of age. His son was nearly seven. When the older physician died, two months ago, this younger Dr. Alton, his only child, had returned from Europe and announced his intention of continuing his father's practice. Why an attractive young man, shining with honors from the medical schools of Paris and Vienna, should be willing to hide his talents in a village like Longfields was an interesting mystery. Some argued that the death of his young wife had broken his heart and killed ambition. But this morning, as he walked to church, beneath the singing elms, he took cheerful notice of the things about him. He enjoyed the greetings of old friends of his boyhood. Some yards behind, in this progress toward the church, came Mr. and Mrs. David Snell. Mr. Snell was listening to the discourse of his wife. He listened with the patience and the fortitude attained by long experience and by force of will. His beard was gray, his eyes were blue, his shoulders narrow and his figure slight. Also, he had a gentle voice and gentle manners. But it was known among his friends that this gentleness was by no means a manifestation of any inward weakness. While patient and much enduring, there were times when he became more determined, more "cantankerously sot" and unchangeable than the movements of the planets. Deacon Babbit once said, "Compared with David when he gets his dander up the Rock of Ages is a weather-cock. The only safe thing to do is to stand from under and let him be." But these transformations were rare, and often forgotten. "I don't care," Mrs. Snell was saying, "people have a right to gossip when a handsome young man comes home from Europe with a child like that and refuses to open his mouth about its mother. I don't believe it _had_ a mother." "P'r'aps not. P'r'aps it grew on a pumpkin tree and the doctor jest picked it." "You know what I mean, David. We never heard of his being married durin' those six years he was over there--over there studyin' medicine. Studyin' medicine! I guess he studied a good many things besides medicine." "Been a fool if he hadn't. Medicine ain't the only interestin' thing in this world." "Don't be coarse, David, and excusing vice. You know very well he should not deceive people about it." "How has he deceived anybody?" "By saying he was married to this boy's mother--and she died." "Well, ain't it true?" "No." "How do you know it ain't?" "Because if it was true he wouldn't be so secretive about it. There's nothing to be ashamed of in marrying an honest woman and having a child." "No," said Mr. Snell. "Nuthin' specially surprisin' about that. Good folks have done it." "Then why be hiding something? All his old friends are naturally interested in his wife and he'd naturally tell us--unless there was something he was ashamed of."