“This,” said Araminta, touching the book timidly; “is it bad?”

“Nothing is bad,” explained Thorpe, carefully, “which does not harm you or some one else.  Of the two, it is better to harm yourself than another.  How does the book make you feel?”

“It makes me feel as if the world was a beautiful place, and as if I ought to be better, so I could make it still more beautiful by living in it.”

“Then, Araminta, it is a good book.”

Thorpe went down-stairs strangely uplifted.  To him, Truth was not a creed, but a light which illumined all creeds.  His soul was aflame with eagerness to help and comfort the whole world.  Miss Evelina was waiting in the hall, veiled and silent, as always.

She opened the door, but Thorpe lingered, striving vainly for the right word.  He could not find it, but he had to speak.

“Miss Evelina,” he stammered, the high colour mounting to his temples, “if there should ever be anything I can do for you, will you let me know?”

She seemed to shrink back into her veil.  “Yes,” she said, at length, “I will.”  Then, fearing she had been ungracious, she added:  “Thank you.”

His mood of exaltation was still upon him, and he wandered long in the woods before going home.  His spirit dwelt in the high places, and from the height he gained the broad view.

When he entered the house.  Miss Mehitable was waiting for him with a torrent of questions.  When he had an opportunity to reply he reported that he had seen Doctor Ralph and Araminta could come home almost any time, now.  Yes, he had talked with Araminta about her soul, and she had cried.  He thought he had done her good by going, and was greatly indebted to Miss Mehitable for the suggestion.

XVI

The March of the Days

Out in the garden, the Piper was attending to his belated planting.  He had cleared the entire place, repaired the wall, and made flower-beds in fantastic shapes that pleased his own fancy.  To-day, he was putting in the seeds, while Laddie played about his feet, and Miss Evelina stood by, timidly watchful.

“I do not see,” she said, “why you take so much trouble to make me a garden.  Nobody was ever so good to me before.”

The Piper laughed and paused a moment to wipe his ruddy face.  “Did nobody ever care before whether or not you had a garden?”

“Never,” returned Evelina, sadly.

“Then ’t is time some one did, so Laddie and I have come to make it for you, but I’m thinking ’t is largely for ourselves, too, since the doing is the best part of anything.”

Miss Evelina made no answer.  Speech did not come easily to her after twenty-five years of habitual repression.

“’T will be a brave garden,” continued the Piper, cheerily.  “Marigolds and larkspur and mignonette; phlox and lad’s love, rosemary, lavender, and verbena, and many another that you’ll not guess till the time comes for blossoming.”