Things had come about very much as David had desired and anticipated, and our friend had met quite a number of the “summer people,” having been waylaid at times by the rector—­in whose good graces he stood so high that he might have sung anything short of a comic song during the offertory—­and presented willy-nilly.  On this particular Sunday he had lingered a while in the gallery after service over some matter connected with the music, and when he came out of the church most of the people had made their way down the front steps and up the street; but standing near the gate was a group of three—­the rector and two young women whom John had seen the previous summer, and now recognized as the Misses Verjoos.  He raised his hat as he was passing the group, when Mr. Euston detained him:  “I want to present you to the Misses Verjoos.”  A tall girl, dressed in some black material which gave John the impression of lace, recognized his salutation with a slight bow and a rather indifferent survey from a pair of very somber dark eyes, while her sister, in light colors, gave him a smiling glance from a pair of very blue ones, and, rather to his surprise, put out her hand with the usual declaration of pleasure, happiness, or what not.

“We were just speaking of the singing,” said the rector, “and I was saying that it was all your doing.”

“You really have done wonders,” condescended she of the somber eyes.  “We have only been here a day or two and this is the first time we have been at church.”

The party moved out of the gate and up the street, the rector leading with Miss Verjoos, followed by our friend and the younger sister.

“Indeed you have,” said the latter, seconding her sister’s remark.  “I don’t believe even yourself can quite realize what the difference is.  My! it is very nice for the rest of us, but it must be a perfect killing bore for you.”

“I have found it rather trying at times,” said John; “but now—­you are so kind—­it is beginning to appear to me as the most delightful of pursuits.”

“Very pretty,” remarked Miss Clara.  “Do you say a good deal of that sort of thing?”

“I am rather out of practice,” replied John.  “I haven’t had much opportunity for some time.”

“I don’t think you need feel discouraged,” she returned.  “A good method is everything, and I have no doubt you might soon be in form again.”

“Thanks for your encouragement,” said John, smiling.  “I was beginning to feel quite low in my mind about it.”  She laughed a little.

“I heard quite a good deal about you last year from a very good friend of yours,” said Miss Clara after a pause.

John looked at her inquiringly.

“Mrs. Bixbee,” she said.  “Isn’t she an old dear?”

“I have reason to think so, with all my heart,” said John stoutly.

“She talked a lot about you to me,” said Miss Clara.

“Yes?”

“Yes, and if your ears did not burn you have no sense of gratitude.  Isn’t Mr. Harum funny?”