Within the six minutes mentioned by Mr. Keyts the diurnal happening to which he attached such importance was observed.  A woman (the younger of the two seen in the phaeton) drove up for Major Calvin Blake; a youngish rather than a young woman, slight, with an effect of stateliness, and not unattractive.  Her husband, a tall and pleasant enough looking man, came down the stairs, and when he saw the woman his face lighted swiftly—­and rather wonderfully, when one considers that she was not unexpected.  They drove away.

The wanderer was not disposed to minimize the incident, however far he might fall short of Westley Keyts’s appreciation.  But he had been long absent from the Little Country, and the people of to-day were strange and unimportant.  He preferred to revive, as best he might, the days of his own simple faith in the town’s sufficiency; days when the world beyond the Little Country was but a place from which to order merchandise, or into which, at the most, adventurous Arcadians dared brief journeys for profit or a doubtful pleasure; the days of a boy’s Little Arcady, that existed no more save as a wraith in remembering minds.