“I s’pose we must get it somehow,” he said. “The Morrises were high steppers, and I dare say the Hayneses are the same, and Hal wants to keep up his end; but I don’t like the way he wrote, as if he was lookin’ down upon us because he is a Morris. Great Scott! his father was a villain, with all his polish and blood, and if he had lived he’d spent every cent he was wuth. The dog! I knew him!” The deacon was a good deal excited, and in the letter which he sent to Harry next day, with ten dollars, he told him not to make a fool of himself because he was a Morris. “The Morrises are well enough,” he wrote, “but, Lord Harry, that isn’t all. It needs something besides being a Morris to make a man.” CHAPTER VII GOOD-BYE Kenneth said it to Connie with a swelling heart, just a week from the day when he first saw her at the station, in her blue cloak and hood. Mrs. Hart had stayed her allotted time, and had felt that each day she stayed grew longer and more tiresome. She had impressed upon Connie that, although the country might be nice in many respects, it was not a desirable place in which to stay, or to visit very often, and Connie was about equally divided between her love for the city and country. She had had a “jam up good time,” she said, remembering Harry’s letter, but before she could get farther, her aunt stopped her. “You have learned a great deal of slang,” she said; “more than you will forget in a year. You have spoiled your blue cloak and two pairs of boots, besides romping quite too much with the cats and the dog and Kenneth. You are too familiar with him. I heard you ask him if he was never going to hear your prayers again. What did you mean?” When Mrs. Hart assumed this tone and manner, Connie always succumbed, and she now told her aunt of that first night, when Kenneth heard her prayers, and that since then she had always asked a blessing on him, the “bestest boy in the world.” “Yes, Kenneth, is a good boy,” Mrs. Hart said, “and when you get home you may send him a prayer-book. I dare say he never saw one. There is no church here.” “Why, yes, there is,” Connie replied. “There is one close by, where Kenneth goes, and all of them. Haven’t you seen it?” “Oh, the meeting-house. That’s different,” was Mrs. Hart’s reply, while Connie looked puzzled.