"Caleb HAMMOND!"

"I don't care, Hannah. You're enough to drive a deacon to swearin'.

It's been nothin' but nag, nag, nag, fight, fight, fight ever since this cruise started. If--if we row like this afore we're married what'll it be afterwards? Talk about bein' independent! Git dap there!" this a savage roar at George Washington, who had stopped again. "I do believe the idiot's struck with a palsy."

Hannah leaned forward and touched her fellow-sufferer on the arm. "Sshh, shh, Caleb!" she said. "Don't holler so. I don't blame you for hollerin'

and--and I declare I don't know as I much blame you for swearin', though I never thought I'D live to say a thing like that. But it ain't the horse deserves to be sworn at. He ain't the idiot; the idiots are you and me. We was both of us out of sorts this mornin', I guess--I know I was--and then you come along and we talked and--and, well, we both went into this foolish, ridiculous, awful piece of silliness without stoppin'

to figger out whether we really wanted to, or whether we was liable to get along together, or anything else. Caleb, I've been wantin' to say this for the last hour or more--now I'm goin' to say it: You turn that horse's head around and start right home again."

Mr. Hammond shook his head.

"No," he said.

"I say yes. I don't want to marry you and I don't believe you want to marry me. Now do you--honest?"

Caleb was silent for a full minute. Then he drew a deep breath.

"It don't make no difference whether I do or not, fur's I can see," he said, gloomily. "It's too late to start home now. I don't know what time 'tis, but we must have been ridin' three or four hours--seems eight or ten year to me--and we ought to be pretty near to Bayport. If we should turn back now we wouldn't get home till long after daylight, and everybody would be up and wantin' to know the whys and wherefores. If we told 'em we'd been ridin' around together all night, and didn't give any reasons for it, there'd be talk enough to last till Judgment. No, we've just got to get married now. That's all there is to it."

Hannah groaned as the truth of this statement dawned upon her. Caleb gathered the reins in his hands preparatory to driving on, when a new thought came to him.

"Say, Hannah," he observed, "I suppose you left that note for Kenelm, didn't you?"

Miss Parker uttered a faint shriek.

"Oh, my soul!" she cried. "I didn't! I didn't! I wrote it, but I was so upset when I found I couldn't get the doorkey and get out that way that I left the note in my bureau drawer."

"Tut, tut! Huh! Well, he may find it there; let's hope he does."

"But he won't! He WON'T! He never finds anything, even if it's in plain sight. He won't know what's become of me--"

"And he'll most likely have the whole town out lookin' for you. I guess now you see there's nothin' to do but for us to get married--don't you?"

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" wailed Miss Parker, and burst into tears.

Caleb groaned. "Git dap!" he shouted to the horse. "No use cryin', Hannah. Might's well grin and bear it. The joyful bridal party'll now proceed."

But the horse refused to proceed, and his driver, peering forward, dimly saw a black barrier in front of him. He lit the lantern once more and, getting out of the carryall, discovered that the road apparently ended at a rail fence that barred further progress.

"Queer," he said. "We must be pretty nigh civilization. Got to Bayport, most likely, Hannah; there seems to be a buildin' ahead of us there. I'm goin' to take the lantern and explore. You set still till I come back."

But this Miss Parker refused to do. She declared that she would not wait alone in those woods for anybody or anything. If her companion was going to explore so was she. So Mr. Hammond a.s.sisted her to alight, and after he had taken down the bars, the pair went on through a grove to where a large building loomed against the sky.

"A church," said Caleb. "One of the Bayport churches, I cal'late. Wonder which 'tis?"

"There's always a sign on the front of a church," said Hannah. "Let's go around front and see."

There were no trees in front of the church, and when they came out by the front platform, Miss Parker exclaimed, "Well, I never! I wouldn't believe I'd remember so clear. This church seems just as familiar as if I was here yesterday. Why, what's the matter?"

Mr. Hammond was standing on the platform, holding his lantern up before a gilt-lettered placard by the church door.

"Hannah," he gurgled, "this night's been too much for me. My foolishness has struck out of my brains into my eyes. I can't read straight. Look here."

Hannah clambered up beside her agitated companion, and read from the placard these words:

FIRST BAPTIST CHURCH

REV. JONATHAN LANGWORTHY, PASTOR

"Good land!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Langworthy! Why, Mr. Langworthy is the minister at Wellmouth Centre, ain't he? I thought he was."

"He is, but perhaps there's another one."

"No, there ain't--not another Baptist. And--and this church, what little I can see of it, LOOKS like the Wellmouth Centre Baptist Church, too; I declare it does! . . . Where are you goin'?"

Caleb did not reply, neither did he turn back. Hannah, who did not propose to be left alone there in the dark, was hurrying after him, but he stopped and when she reached his side she found him holding the lantern and peering at an iron gate in a white fence. His face, seen by the lantern light, was a picture of bewildered amazement.

"What is it?" she demanded. "What IS it?"

He did not answer, but merely pointed to the gate.

"Eh? What--why--why, Caleb, that's--ain't that the Nickerson memorial gate? . . . It can't be! But--but it IS! Why--"

Mr. Hammond was muttering to himself.

"We took the wrong road at the crossin'," he said. "Then we must have switched again, probably when we was arguin' about kindlin' the fire; then we must have turned again when the harness broke; and that must have fetched us into Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot road that comes out--"

"Eh? Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot? Why, Lemuel's wood-lot is at--"

"It's at Wellmouth Centre, that's where 'tis. No wonder that church looked familiar. Hannah, we ain't been nigh Bayport. We've been ridin'

round and round in circles through them woods all night."

"Caleb HAMMOND!"

Before Caleb could add anything to his astonishing statement the silence of the night was broken by the clang of the bell in the tower of the church. It clanged four times.

"WHAT!" exclaimed Caleb. "Only four o'clock! It can't be!"

"My soul!" cried Miss Parker, "only four! Why--why, I thought we'd been ridin' ten hours at least. . . . Caleb Hammond, you and me don't want to find a minister; what we need to look up is a pair of guardians to take care of us."

But Mr. Hammond seized her arm.

"Hannah," he cried, excitedly, "do you understand what that means--that clock strikin'? It means that, bein' as we're only five miles from home, we can GET home, if we want to, afore anybody's out of bed. You can sneak up that ladder again; I can get that horse and team back in Thankful's stable; we can both be in our own beds by gettin'-up time and not one soul need ever know a word about this foolishness. If we--"

But Miss Parker had not waited for him to finish; she was already on her way to the carryall.

At a quarter after seven that morning Thankful knocked at the door of her boarder's room.