Then still sharper words passed; for the accuser was a peevish, ill-natured man; and his shrugs, and sneering mouth, as well as his suspicious words, roused the Old Adam in Peter, and he felt him firing his tongue and twitching his fingers. Bogart was a younger man than himself; but Peter knew that he could throttle him like a cur; or fling him, with one movement of his arm, into the dust of the highway. Fortunately, however, Bogart's prolixity of evil words gave Peter pause enough for reflection; and when he spoke again, he had himself well in hand, though his eyes were flashing and his voice was stern. "Bogart," he said, "you are a member of the Dutch Reformed Church; and you have doubtless a Bible somewhere in your house. Go home and read, '_With the froward, Thou wilt show Thyself forward_.' That is a dreadful Scripture for an ill-tongued man, Bogart. As for me, I will not answer you. He shall speak for me, and mine." And with this sense of an omnipotent advocate on his side, Peter walked majestically away. At first he thought he would go to Filmer Hall in the morning, and bring home his child. But a little reflection showed him how unnecessary and unwise such a movement would be. "I will leave God to order events, which are his work, not mine," he thought, "and if Yanna pleases God, and pleases herself, she will not displease me." Adriana, knowing nothing of this petty tumult of envy, was very happy. Harry did not go to New York the following day. He only talked of the city, and wondered why he wanted to stay away from it. "It is my native air," he said, as he struck a match swiftly and lit his cigar, "and usually I am homesick, the moment I leave it. I wonder what there is in Filmer Hall to make me forget Broadway; I do not understand!"--but he understood before he began to speak. "The place itself is enchanting," said Adriana. "We are living in Paradise," added Rose. "Paradise!" cried Mrs. Filmer. "And we have to keep ten servants! Paradise! Impossible! This morning the laundress was also homesick for New York; and she has gone back there. I could have better spared any two other servants; for she was clever enough to deserve the laundress's vision of St. Joseph--'with a lovely shining hat, and a shirt buzzom that was never starched in this world.' Harry, why do people like to go to New York, even in the summer time?" "Well, mother, if people have to work for their living, New York gives them a money-making impression. I always catch an itching palm as soon as I touch its pavements." "I did not think you were so mercenary, Harry." "We are nothing, if we are not mercenary. What a gulf of yawns there is between us and the age that listened to the 'large utterance of the early gods'!"