"What am I to understand from this? Strange fancies, indeed! If truth and love are strange fancies, she is indeed enveloped. My darling Clara! She is a light leading to the eternal city. I knew you could not understand her." "Well, Miss Minot, let me explain. I know she is graceful, and beautiful, and truly good, but none can know positively there is an eternal city, and I must say I do not feel interested in the dreamy talk, which is, after all, only talk." "Goodness!" I exclaimed, "are you an infidel?" "I cannot vouch for anything beyond this life." "If I felt I could not, I'd commit suicide to-morrow." He laughed heartily at this, and, as we were at Aunt Peggy's door, could not answer until we turned toward home, when he said: "Instead of taking my life, I desire to keep it as long as I can, and get all the enjoyment possible on this side the grave. I hope I have made myself understood, and disarmed every fear of your friendly heart." "The days will tell," I replied, and our walk at last was ended. It had been thoroughly uncomfortable to me, although he had seemed to be enjoying every step. I went to my room that night, and in my dreams tried to find the garden of Eden somewhere in our town, while a snake, with eyes like Wilmur Benton's, seemed to be crawling close behind me, and with the daybreak, I said: "That dream means something." Aunt Peg told me she should go to work and clean up the ground-room, and if father had any old "chunks of wood he could spare, Plint could come over and get 'em, and when that new nigger came, there'd be a prospect awaitin'." I carried the message, and father thought it would be a good plan to have Matthias Jones appear, as he had more wood cut in the forest than he could haul with Ben's help, and doubtless this poor man would be glad of the job. Mother said the room could be made ready, she thought, inasmuch as there was an extra high-post bedstead in our attic chamber. Aunt Hilda added, "I've got a good feather mattress to put on it, and a straw-bed is easily fixed." So I wrote a letter to Aunt Phebe, and Plint came over for the chunks of wood, riding back on a load of things we had gathered. When the ground-room was ready for occupancy, it was not a cheerless place. A nicely-made bed in its north-west corner, a deal table at the east side of the room, two rush-bottomed chairs, and a straight-backed rocker, two breadths of carpet lying through its centre, the wide-mouthed fireplace, with well-filled wood-box at its right hand,--all savored of comfort. To cap the climax, Clara put up to the windows some half curtains of unbleached cotton, bound with bright French red. It really looked nice, and Aunt Peg said: "I do hope, mam, he's clean."