"Some s'prised to see _you_, dominie," said he. "Thought you was generally occupied at your desk of a Friday morning."

The minister included Lydia Orr in the genial warmth of his smile as he replied:

"I had a special call into the country this morning, and seeing your conveyance hitched to the trees outside, Deacon, I thought I'd step in. I'm not sure it's altogether safe for all of us to be standing in the middle of this big room, though. Sills pretty well rotted out--eh, Deacon?"

"Sound as an oak," snarled the Deacon. "As I was telling th' young lady, there ain't no better built house anywheres 'round than this one. Andrew Bolton didn't spare other folks' money when he built it--no, _sir!_ It's good for a hundred years yet, with trifling repairs."

"Who owns the house now?" asked Lydia unexpectedly. She had walked over to one of the long windows opening on a rickety balcony and stood looking out.

"Who owns it?" echoed Deacon Whittle. "Well, now, we can give you a clear t.i.tle, ma'am, when it comes to that; sound an' clear. You don't have to worry none about that. You see it was this way; dunno as anybody's mentioned it in your hearing since you come to Brookville; but we use to have a bank here in Brookville, about eighteen years ago, and--"

"Yes, Ellen Dix told me," interrupted Lydia Orr, without turning her head. "Has n.o.body lived here since?"

Deacon Whittle cast an impatient glance at Wesley Elliot, who stood with his eyes fixed broodingly on the dusty floor.

"Wal," said he. "There'd have been plenty of folks glad enough to live here; but the house wa'n't really suited to our kind o' folks.

It wa'n't a farm--there being only twenty acres going with it. And you see the house is different to what folks in moderate circ.u.mstances could handle. n.o.body had the cash to buy it, an' ain't had, all these years. It's a pity to see a fine old property like this a-going down, all for the lack of a few hundreds. But if you was to buy it, ma'am, I could put it in shape fer you, equal to the best, and at a figure-- Wall; I tell ye, it won't cost ye what some folks'd think."

"Didn't that man--the banker who stole--everybody's money, I mean--didn't he have any family?" asked Lydia, still without turning her head. "I suppose he--he died a long time ago?"

"I see the matter of th' t.i.tle's worrying you, ma'am," said Deacon Whittle briskly. "I like to see a female cautious in a business way: I do, indeed. And 'tain't often you see it, neither. Now, I'll tell _you_--"

"Wouldn't it be well to show Miss Orr some more desirable property, Deacon?" interposed Wesley Elliot. "It seems to me--"

"Oh, I shall buy the house," said the girl at the window, quickly.

She turned and faced the two men, her delicate head thrown back, a clear color staining her pale cheeks.

"I shall buy it," she repeated. "I--I like it very much. It is just what I wanted--in--in every way."

Deacon Whittle gave vent to a snort of astonishment.

"There was another party looking at the place a spell back," he said, rubbing his dry old hands. "I dunno's I exac'ly give him an option on it; but I was sort of looking for him to turn up 'most any day.

Course I'd have to give him the first chance, if it comes to a--"

"What is an option?" asked Lydia.

"An option is a--now, let me see if I can make a legal term plain to the female mind: An option, my dear young lady, is--"

The minister crossed the floor to where the girl was standing, a slight, delicate figure in her black dress, her small face under the shadowy brim of her wide had looking unnaturally pale in the greenish light from without.

"An option," he interposed hurriedly, "must be bought with money; should you change your mind later you lose whatever you have paid.

Let me advise you--"

Deacon Whittle cleared his throat with an angry, rasping sound.

"Me an' this young lady came here this morning for the purpose of transacting a little business, mutually advantageous," he snarled.

"If it was anybody but the dominie, I should say he was b.u.t.ting in without cause."

"Oh, don't, please!" begged the girl. "Mr. Elliot meant it kindly, I'm sure. I--I want an option, if you please. You'll let me have it, won't you? I want it--now."

Deacon Whittle blinked and drew back a pace or two, as if her eagerness actually frightened him.

"I--I guess I can accommodate ye," he stuttered; "but--there'll be some preliminaries--I wa'n't exactly prepared-- There's the price of the property and the terms-- S'pose likely you'll want a mortgage--eh?"

He rubbed his bristly chin dubiously.

"I want to buy the house," Lydia said. "I want to be sure--"

"Have you seen the rooms upstairs?" asked the minister, turning his back upon his senior deacon.

She shook her head.

"Well, then, why not--"

Wesley Elliot took a step or two toward the winding stair, dimly seen through the gloom of the hall.

"Hold on, dominie, them stairs ain't safe!" warned the Deacon.

"They'll mebbe want a little shoring up, before-- Say, I wish--"

"I don't care to go up now, really," protested the girl. "It--it's the location I like and--"

She glanced about the desolate place with a shiver. The air of the long-closed rooms was chilly, despite the warmth of the June day outside.

"I'll tell you what," said the deacon briskly. "You come right along down to the village with me, Miss Orr. It's kind of close in here; the house is built so tight, there can't no air git in. I tell you, them walls--"

He smote the one nearest him with a jocular palm. There followed the hollow sound of dropping plaster from behind the lath.

"Guess we'd better fix things up between us, so you won't be noways disappointed in case that other party--" he added, with a crafty glance at the minister. "You see, he might turn up 'most any day."

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the girl, walking hurriedly to the door. "I--I should like to go at once."

She turned and held out her hand to the minister with a smile.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "I wanted you to see the house as it is now."

He looked down into her upturned face with its almost childish appeal of utter candor, frowning slightly.

"Have you no one--that is, no near relative to advise you in the matter?" he asked. "The purchase of a large property, such as this, ought to be carefully considered, I should say."

Deacon Whittle coughed in an exasperated manner.

"I guess we'd better be gitting along," said he, "if we want to catch Jedge Fulsom in his office before he goes to dinner."

Lydia turned obediently.

"I'm coming," she said.