"You are remarkably obliging, Mr. Gold," said Rachel. "I thank you extremely." She took the newspaper from his hand and retired into the house with it. Ezra lingered, and she returned to resume her occupation.

"It is beautiful weather," said Ezra.

"It is beautiful weather, indeed," said Rachel. Ezra lingered on, but rather hopelessly, for she would not so much as glance in his direction so far as he could see, but her features were entirely hidden by the cottage bonnet.

"I trust you will find a item or two as will be of interest," he said, after a lengthy pause. Rachel contented herself with an emphatic-seeming little nod at the flower-bed. "Good-day, Miss Blythe."

"Good-day, Mr. Gold, and thank you very much for being so good as to think of me."

They did not encounter again until the following Sunday morning, when the banns between Ruth and Reuben were called a second time. The ringers were at work again when Ezra and Rachel met in the porch as the church-goers streamed slowly away, and the two shook hands mutely. They walked on side by side until Ezra's house was reached, and neither spoke until then. Pausing before the door, Miss Blythe put out her hand.

"If I might be allowed to go a little farther, Miss Blythe," said Ezra, gently. Rachel withdrew her hand and said nothing. So once more they walked, apart from other home-going worshippers, down the lane that led to Rachel's cottage.

"Did you," began Ezra, pausing to cough behind his hand--"did you tek a look at the paper, Miss Blythe?" He received a nod for sole answer, unless the pinching of the lips and an unconsciously affected maiden drooping of the eyelids might be supposed to add to it. "Did you happen to read a particular item," said Ezra, pausing to cough behind his hand again, "a item in the letter from Paris?"

"Really, Mr. Gold," said Rachel, marching on with exceeding stateliness, and looking straight before her, "at our ages that piece of news would offer a very frivolous theme for conversation."

"Might we not talk of it without being frivolous, Miss Blythe?" asked Ezra.

"Decidedly not, in my opinion," Miss Blythe responded.

"To talk of love," pursued Ezra, glancing at her now and then, "in the sense young people use the word, between persons of the ages of that lady and gentleman, 'ud be frivolous indeed. But I persoom, Miss Blythe, they did not talk so."

"I should think not, indeed," said Rachel, with decision. "I should hope not."

"But to talk of love as love is betwixt the elderly--to talk of companionship--to talk of shelterin' one another again the loneliness of late old age--to talk of each one tekin' up the little remnant of life as was left to 'em and putting it i' the other's hands for kindly keepin'! Should you think as that was ridiculous, Rachel?"

"I should think," said Rachel, "that old fools are the greatest fools of all." Ezra sighed. "I do not know," she said at this, "that the poor-marquis is so much to blame, but the lady should have known better than listen to his folly."

"I had thought," said Ezra, patiently, "you would ha' took a different view of it, Rachel." They went on to the gate without another word.

"Good-morning, Rachel," Ezra said there. "Don't be afraid of me. I will not come back again to this subject. I had hoped you would not ha'

looked on it with such mislikin'; but sence you do, I will say no more about it."

So they parted, and met again and were good friends, and not infrequent companions, and Ezra said no more.

The eve of Reuben's great day came round, and Reuben was dismissed from his sweetheart's presence to wander where he would, for Ruth and her a.s.sistants (among whom was none more important than Aunt Rachel) had a prodigious deal to do. The lovers were to leave directly after their marriage for no less a place than London, and there were dresses to be tried on and finished and packed, and altogether the time was trying.

In his wanderings about the fields Reuben encountered the younger Sennacherib, whom he strove vainly to avoid; not because he disliked him, but because his own thoughts kept him in better company just then than the younger Sennacherib was likely to provide in his own person.

But Snac was not a man to be lightly shaken off, and Reuben bent himself to listen to him as best he might.

"So," said young Sennacherib, "thee beest goin' to enter into the bounds of 'oly matterymony?" Reuben laughed, and nodded an affirmative. "Well, theest done a very pretty thing for me amongst you."

"For you?" said Reuben. "How?"

"Why this way," said Snac, bending his knees to make the tight embraces of his cords endurable. "Thee wast by when my feyther gi'en me the farewell shillin'. Very well. I'd got nothin' i' the world, and he knowed it. After a bit he begun to relent a bit, though n.o.body 'd iver had expected sich a thing. But so it was. He took to sendin' me a sov a week, onbeknownst to anybody, and most of all to mother. Well, mother sends me a sov a week from the beginning unbeknownst to anybody, and most of all him. Her'd ha' gone in fear of her life if her'd ha' guessed he knowed it. And now my income's cut down to half, and all because of this here weddin' o' thine."

"I don't see how," said Reuben.

"Why thus," said Snac, with a somewhat rueful grin. "This here Rachel Blythe as has come back to the parish has come to a reconciling with your uncle, as was a by-gone flame of hern; and her tells my mother as it's thee and thy bride as browt that to pa.s.s."

"True enough," Reuben allowed; "but still I don't see--"

"An' niver will see," said Snac, "till thee lettest me tell thee. Her comes to my feyther's house, this Miss Blythe, an' tells mother what a beautiful thing this reconcilin' is, and they fall to weepin' and cry-in' to my feyther both together, an' all on a sudden, t' everybody's mightiest astonishing, what's he to do but say, 'Theer, I forgi'en him.

Hold your jaw, the pair on you!' Well, now, see what a pitch I'm let to fall on. Feyther durn't tell mother for his life as he helped me; her durn't tell him as her helped me. So they mek up their minds to gi'e me a pound a week betwigst the two on 'em, and that's how it comes about with these here cussed reconcilings, as I'm done out o' fifty per cent, o' my income. Look here, Mr. Gold, don't you goo about reconcilin' no more of my relations."

"Why, Snac," cried Reuben, "it's none of my doing."

"Well," Snac allowed, "it'd be hard upon a man to mek him answerable for all the doin's of his wife's mother's second cousin. But if it had been a man as had ha' done it, I'd ha' had a try to punch his head for him.

I should ha' took a trial trip at you yourself, Mr. Gold, for all so big and all so handy as you be."

"Well, Snac," said Reuben, "it will be all the bet-ter for you in the end, and I hope it may mend sooner. But if the fact of my meaning to get married has done so much good as you say it has, I'm very glad to know it, and I'll take it as a happy sign."

It seemed an augury of happiness as he walked alone about the fields, and dwelt upon it. It seemed a fitting thing that love should spread peace abroad, and that peace should multiply itself.

On the morrow the ringers rang; and being inspired by plenitude of beer and rich gratuity, and hearty good-will into the bargain, they rang till sundown. And when the wedding was over, and the bride and bridegroom had driven away with cheers and blessings in their train, the wedding-guests sat in the garden with the sylvan statues standing solemnly about, and the bells making joyful music. Everybody was very sober and serious when the excitement of cheering away the wedded pair was over, and in a while the guests began to go. Ezra and Rachel lingered among the latest, and Rachel's going was the signal for Ezra to say his good-bys and follow.

She made no objection to his society, and they walked on without speaking. The declining sun shone full in their faces, and cast their shadows far behind. Except for themselves the lane was lonely.

"Did you see in last week's copy of the _Argus_," said Rachel, suddenly, and with great dryness, "that the Marquis of B. and the lady are united?"

"I noted it," said Ezra. "Do you think so badly of them as you did?"

Rachel said nothing.

"Do you think so badly of them as you did?" he asked again, and still Rachel said nothing. The lane was lonely. He laid a hand upon the shoulder nearest him, and asked the question for a third time. Still she said not a word, but bent her head, perhaps to avoid the level sunlight.

"Shall we garner up the years that are left for us together, dear?"

She gave no answer still, but he seemed to understand. They walked on side by side towards the sunset, and the joy-bells, half sad with distance, sounded in their ears.

THE END.