Alice had heard much of Dr. Richards from the young girls of Snowdon.  She had heard his voice in the Psalter, his responses in the Litany, and accepted it as a sign of marked improvement.  He could not be as irreverent and thoughtless as he had been represented by those who did not like him; he must have changed during his absence, and she frankly offered him her hand, and with a smile which he felt even to his finder tips, welcomed him home, making some trivial remark touching the contrast between their quiet town and the cities he had left.

“But you will help make it pleasanter for us this winter, I am sure,” she continued, and the sweet blue eyes sought his for an answer as to whether he would desert Snowdon immediately.

What a weak, vacillating creature is man before a pretty woman like Alice Johnson.  Twenty-four hours ago, and the doctor would have scoffed at the idea that he should tarry longer than a week or two at the farthest in that dull by-place, where the people were only half civilized; but now the tables were turned as by magic.  Snowdon was as pretty a rural village as New England could boast, and he meant to enjoy it for a while.  It would be a relief after the busy life he had led, and was just the change he needed!  So, in answer to Alice’s remark, he said he should probably remain at home some time, that he always found it rather pleasant at Snowdon, though as a boy he had, he supposed, often chafed at its dullness; but he saw differently now.  Besides, it could not now be dull, with the acquisition it had received since he was there before; and he bowed gracefully toward the young lady, who acknowledged the compliment with a faint blush, and then turned toward the group of “noisy, ill-bred children,” as Dr. Richards thought, who came thronging about her.

“My Sabbath school scholars,” Alice said, as if in answer to these mental queries, “Ah, here comes my youngest—­my pet,” and Alice stooped to caress a little rosy-cheeked boy, with bright brown eyes and patches on both coat sleeves.

The doctor saw the patches, but not the handsome face, and with a gesture of impatience, turned to go, just as his ear caught another kiss, and he knew the patched boy received what he would have given much to have.

“Hanged if I don’t half wish I was one of those ragged urchins,” he said, after handing his mother and sisters to their carriage, and seating himself at their side.  “But does not Miss Johnson display strange taste?  Surely some other one less refined might be found to look after those brats, if they must be looked after, which I greatly doubt.  Better leave them, as you find them; can’t elevate them if you try.  It’s trouble thrown away.”

Just before turning from the main road into the park which led to Terrace Hill, they met a stylish little covered sleigh.  The colored driver politely touched big hat to the ladies, who leaned out a moment to look after him.