Furrey went on at some length to detail all the circumstances of the event:  how Mr. Lathers, the president of the bank, had sent for him, and how he complimented him; how he had asked him where he learned to write such a good hand; and how he had replied that it came sort of natural to him to write well, that he could make the American eagle with pen and ink before he was fifteen, all but the tail-feathers, and how he discovered a year later that the tail-feathers had to be made by holding the pen between the first and second fingers; with much more to the like innocent purpose, to which Mrs. Belding listened with nods and murmurs of approval.  This was all the amiable young man needed to encourage him to indefinite prattle.  He told them all about the men in the bank, their habits and their loves and their personal relations to him, and how he seemed somehow to be a general favorite among them all.  Miss Alice sat very still and straight in her chair, with an occasional smile when the laughter of Mr. Furrey seemed to require it, but with her eyes turned to the moonlit night in vagrant reverie, and her mind in those distant and sacred regions where we cannot follow the minds of pure and happy girls.

“Now, you would hardly understand, if I did not tell you,” said Mr. Furrey, “how it is that I have gained the confidence——­”

At this moment Alice, who had been glancing over Mr. Furrey’s shoulder for a moment with a look of interest in her eyes, which he thought was the legitimate result of his entertaining story, cried: 

“Why, there comes Mr. Farnham, mamma.”

“So it is,” said her mother.  “I suppose he wants to see me.  Don’t move, Mr. Furrey.  Mr. Farnham and I will go into the house.”

“By no means,” said that gentleman, who by this time had mounted the steps.  “I was sitting all alone on my porch and saw by the moon that yours was inhabited; and so I came over to improve my mind and manners in your society.”

“I will get a chair for you,” said Mrs. Belding.

“No, thank you; this balustrade will bear my weight, and my ashes will drop harmless on the flower-bed, if you will let me finish my cigar.”  And he seated himself between the chair of Furrey and the willow fabric in which Alice had resumed her place.  This addition to the company was not at all to the taste of the assistant cashier, who soon took his leave, shaking hands with the ladies, with his best bow.

“After all, I do prefer a chair,” said Farnham, getting down from his balustrade, and throwing away his cigar.