"I am sure we owe them," said the Judge,—"but that's another view of the case, I know. Well—it's a good kind of debt to owe—and to pay!—"
And he was lost again among some other of his guests. In the gradual shifting and melting away of groups, it happened that Mr. Linden found himself for a moment alone, when the doctor again approached him.
"Did I do your office well?" he said gently, and half putting his arm through Mr. Linden's as if to lead him to the house.
The answer was laughingly given—
"'What poet would not mourn to see
His brother write as well as he?'"
"Well," said the doctor, answering the tone, "did I hit your boys?—the right ones?"
"My boys in point of scholarship?—yes, almost as carefully as I should."
"I am glad you were satisfied," said the doctor;—"and I'm glad it's over!—What sort of a life do you lead here in Pattaquasset? I don't know it. How can one get along here?"
He spoke in a careless sort of confidential manner, as perfectly aware that his companion was able to answer him. They were very slowly sauntering up to the house.
"One can get along here in various ways—" said Mr. Linden,—"as in other places. One can (if one can) subside to the general level, or one can (with the like qualification) rise above it. The paths through Pattaquasset are in no wise peculiar, yet by no means alike."