"I say, Mr. Lawson, when are you a-comin' out? Can't you come some Sunday, and bring Miss Verne and Miss Lottie and be sure and send us word, so as Melindy can have a fire in the best room, and a dinner fit for city folks."
"You may see us all out there some day when you least expect us," said the young man, smiling in his peculiar way.
"All right, sir! Off this time, sure. Don't forget to tell the insurance man about the nine-days' wonder up at the Crossin'," and with this parting injunction, Moses disappeared in good earnest.
An hour later, as the latter is jogging along the king's highway happy as mortal can be, Phillip Lawson is indulging in a quiet reverie beside his bright, cheerful fireside.
Though possessed of much means there is no attempt at display in the pretty tasteful cottage.
The young solicitor had too much good taste, culture, and breeding, to follow in the wake of shoddyism. He was a true gentleman, and as such he cannot take a false movement either to the right or the left.
What glorious day dreams can now be woven from the golden threads of happy thought?
Phillip Lawson is happy, indeed. He thinks of the fair maiden who hourly awaits his coming with the flush of fond expectation mantling the delicate cheek, and as he gazes upon the faithful portrait of his betrothed, murmurs, "Is there aught on earth so pure and true as thee my own—my Marguerite."
"Confiding, frank, without control,
Poured mutually from soul to soul,
As free from any fear or doubt,
As is that light from chill or stain
The sun into the stars sheds out,
To be by them shed back again."