"I would!" said the widow.
While he was in the midst of this performance the two women had their attention withdrawn from him in a rather singular way. A poor lad hobbling on a crutch made his appearance in the street below, and rapidly but timidly swung himself along to the widow Spurlock's door. There he paused a moment, as if overcome by mortification, but finally knocked. His summons not being answered, he presently knocked more loudly.
"Hist!" said the widow to him, in a half-tone, opening a narrow slit in the curtain. "What do you want, David?"
The boy wheeled and looked up, his face at once crimson with shame. "I want to see the parson," he said, in a voice scarcely audible.
"The parson's not at home," replied the widow, sharply. "He's out; studying up a sermon." And she closed the curtain.
An expression of despair came into the boy's face, and for a moment in physical weakness he sat down on the door-step. He heard the notes of the flute in the room above; he knew that the parson was at home; but presently he got up and moved away.
The women did not glance after his retreating figure, being reabsorbed by the movements of the parson. Whence had he that air of grace and high-born courtesy? that vivacity of youth?
"He must be in love," said Arsena. "He must be in love with the widow Babcock."
"He's no more in love with her than I am," replied her companion, with a toss of her head.
A few moments later the parson, whose motions had been gradually growing less animated, ceased dancing,
