"Oh, Mrs. Babcock!" cried the dismayed logician, "what have you done?" But the next moment, the logician giving place to the man, he grasped one of her hands, and murmuring, "May God bless _you_ for _that_!" seized his hat, and hurried out into the street. The most careless observer might have been interested in watching his movements as he walked away. He carried his hat in his hand, forgetting to put it on. Several persons spoke to him on the street, but he did not hear them. He strode a block or two in one direction, and then a block or two in another. "If she does it again," he muttered to himself--"if she does it again, I'll marry her!... Old?... I could run a mile in a minute!" As he was passing the music-store, the dealer called out to him: "Come in, parson. I've got a present for you." "A--present--for--_me_?" repeated the parson, blank with amazement. In his life the little music-dealer had never made him a present. "Yes, a present," repeated the fortunate vestry-man, whose dry heart, like a small seed-pod, the wind of good-fortune had opened, so that a few rattling germs of generosity dropped out. Opening a drawer behind his counter, he now took out a roll of music. "Here's some new music for your flute," he said. "Accept it with my compliments." New music for his flute! The parson turned it over dreamily, and it seemed that the last element of disorder had come to derange his faculties. "And Mrs. Leuba sends her compliments, and would like to have you to dinner," added the shopkeeper, looking across the counter with some amusement at the expression of the parson, who now appeared as much shocked as though his whole nervous system had been suddenly put in connection with a galvanic battery of politeness. It was a very gay dinner, having been gotten up to celebrate the drawing of the prize. The entire company were to go in the afternoon to see the waxworks, and some of the ladies wore especial toilets, with a view to having their profiles taken. "Have you been to see the waxworks, Mr. Moore?" inquired a spinster roguishly, wiping a drop of soup from her underlip. The unusual dinner, the merriment, the sense of many ladies present, mellowed the parson like old wine. "No, madam," he replied, giddily; "but I shall go this very afternoon. I find it impossible any longer to deny myself the pleasure of beholding the great American Coquette and the Sleeping Beauty. I must take my black sheep," he continued, with expanding warmth. "I must drive my entire flock of soiled lambs into the favored and refining presence of Miss Julia Granby."