Peter had a good night.  Perhaps it was only because he was sleepy, but a pleasant speech is not a bad night-cap.  At least it is better than a mental question-mark as to whether one has done wrong.  Peter did not know how it was coming out, but he thought he had done right, and need not spend time on a blank wall that evening.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CONVENTION.

Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the next morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around Saratoga, before the place gave many evidences of life.  He ended his tramp at the Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with exceeding disgust at the result.  As he set down his half-finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass.

“This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, holding out her hand.  “When did you arrive?”

“I only came last night.”

“And how long shall you be here?”

“I cannot say.  I am attending the convention, and my stay will depend on that.”

“Surely you are not a Democrat?” said Miss De Voe, a shade of horror showing itself in her face, in spite of her good breeding.  In those days it was not, to put it mildly, a guarantee of respectability to belong to that party, and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social station, all the more because she was absolutely ignorant of political events.

Peter said he was.

“How can you be?  When a man can ally himself with the best, why should he choose the worst?”

“I think,” said Peter quietly, “that a Pharisee said the same thing, in different words, many hundred years ago.”

Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed.  She also became suddenly conscious of the two girls who had come to the spring with her.  They had been forgotten in the surprise over Peter, but now Miss De Voe wondered if they had heard his reply, and if they had enough Bible lore to enable them to understand the reproof.

“I am sure you don’t mean that,” she said, in the sting of the moment.

“I am very sorry,” said Peter, “if I made an unkind speech.  What I meant was that no one has a right to pick out the best for himself.  I am sure, from your letter to me, that you think a man should help those not as well off as himself.”

“Oh, but that is very different.  Of course we should be charitable to those who need our help, but we need not mix in their low politics.”

“If good laws, and good administration can give the poor good food, and good lodgings, don’t you think the best charity is to ‘mix’ in politics, and try to obtain such results?”

“I want you to know my two cousins,” Miss De Voe replied.  “Dorothy, I wish to present Mr. Stirling.  My cousin, Miss Ogden, and Miss Minna Ogden.”

Peter saw two very pretty girls, and made a bow to them.