aunt, grimly waiting for his return, was already perched like an imp on the crupper, and clung to his sides with claws of steel. She, looking through the window, also felt that it was so; and, much relieved, went back to her household duties.
He rode very slowly down the lane, with his eyes fixed on the ground. There was a rich orange flush of sunset on the hills across the valley; masses of burning cumuli hung, self-suspended, above the farthest woods, and such depths of purple-gray opened beyond them as are wont to rouse the slumbering fancies and hopes of a young man's heart; but the beauty and fascination and suggestiveness of the hour could not lift his downcast, absorbed glance. At last his horse, stopping suddenly at the gate, gave a whinny of recognition, which was answered.
Elwood "Withers laughed. "Can you tell me where Joseph Asten lives?" he cried,—" an old man, very much bowed and bent."
Joseph also laughed, with a blush, as he met the other's strong, friendly face. "There is plenty of time," he said, leaning over his horse's neck and lifting the latch of the gate.
"All right; but you must now wake up. You're spruce enough to make a figure to-night."
"O, no doubt!" Joseph gravely answered; "but what kind of a figure?"
"Some people, I've heard say," said Elwood, it may look into their looking-glass every day, and never know how they look. If you appeared to yourself as you appear to me, you wouldn't ask such a question as that."
"If I could only not think of myself at all, Elwood,—if I could be as unconcerned as you are—"
"But I'm not, Joseph, my boy!" Elwood interrupted,
