“I shall be obliged to keep my bed; that will be the end of it,” said Mrs. Holland, gloomily. “Nobody can manage the children but Edna. When she is otherwise occupied, their noise is frightful: ten times more distracting than the worst toothache.”
Fred said nothing further; she was looking so ruefully woebegone. Putting his arm into mine, he turned into a shady walk.
“Will you be my groomsman at the wedding, Johnny? But for you, my good friend, I don’t know that I should have been saved to see this day.”
“Nay, Fred, I think it was the key of the church that saved you. I will be your groomsman if you really and truly prefer to pitch upon me, rather than on some one older and better.”
“Yes, you are right,” he answered, lifting his hat, and glancing upwards. “It was the key of the church—under God.”
XVII.
SEEN IN THE MOONLIGHT.
“I tell you it is,” repeated Tod. “One cannot mistake Temple, even at a distance.”
“But this man looks so much older than he. And he has whiskers. Temple had none.”