The Devil's Garden. W. B. Maxwell

from the country, sir," said the waiter, politely.

      "Yes, bull's eye," said Dale, with boisterous good-humor. "Hand him out a cokernut. But may I ask how you guessed my place of origin so pat?"

      "Well, sir. I don't know, sir. Haven't had you here before, I think."

      "Oh, you're very clever, you Londoners. I don't doubt you can all see through a brick wall. Yes, I'm from the country—but I'm beginning to know my way about the town too. Ever bin on a steamboat to Rodhaven?"

      "Rodhaven? No, sir."

      Then Dale told the waiter about the heaths and downs and woods that lie between Rodhaven and Old Manninglea.

      "Prettiest part of the world that I know of," he said proudly. "You spend your next holiday there. Take the four-horse sharrybank from Rodhaven pier—and when you get to the Roebuck at Rodchurch, you get off of the vehicle and ask for the Postmaster."

      "Yes, sir?"

      "He won't eat you," and Dale laughed with intense enjoyment of his humor. "He's not a bad chap really, though his neighbors say he's a bit of a Tartar. I give you my word he'll receive you, decently, and stand you dinner into the bargain. I know he will—and for why? Because I am that gentleman myself."

      He could not resist the pleasure of rounding off his sentence with the grand word "Gentleman," and he was gratified by the waiter's meekly obsequious reception of the word.

      "Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir."

      When leaving, he gave the waiter a generous tip.

      To-day his walk through the gaily-crowded streets was sweet to him as a lazy truant ramble in the woods during church-time. Everything that he looked at delighted him—the richness of shop-windows, showing all the expensive useless goods that no sensible person ever wants; the liveries worn by pampered servants standing at carriage wheels; the glossy coats of mettlesome, prancing horses; the extravagant dresses of fine ladies mincingly walking on the common public pavement; the stolid grandeur of huge policemen, and the infinite audacity of small newspaper boys; the life, the color, the noise. It seemed as if the busy city and the pleasure-loving West-end alike unfolded themselves as a panorama especially arranged for one's amusement; and his satisfaction was so great that it mutely expressed itself in words which he would have been quite willing to shout aloud. Such as: "Bravo, London! You aren't a bad little place when one gets to know you. There's more in you than meets the eye, first view."

      And because he was so happy himself, he could sympathize with the happiness of everybody else. He was glad that the rich people were so rich and the poor people so contented; he admired a young swell for buying flowers from a woman with a shawl over her head; he mused on all the honest, well-paid toil that had gone to the raising of the grapes and peaches at a Piccadilly fruiterer's. "Live, and let live"—that's a good motto all the world over. When he saw babies in perambulators, he would have liked to kiss them. When he saw an elderly man with a pretty young woman, he wanted to nudge him and say jocosely, "You're in luck, old chap, aren't you?" When couples of boy and girl lovers went whispering by, he smiled sentimentally. "That's right. You can't begin too soon. Never mind what Ma says. If you like him, stick to him, lassie."

      And though still alone, he felt no loneliness. His own dear companion was soon coming to him. Throughout the walk the only thoughts tinged with solemnity were those which sprang from his always deepening gratitude to Mr. Barradine. He wanted to pay a ceremonious call for the purpose of expressing his thanks, and he felt that he should do this immediately; but for the life of him he could not remember whether the great man's London house was situated in Grosvenor Square or Grosvenor Place. Mavis of course would know. Or he could find out from one of these policemen. He hesitated, and it was the state of his collar that decided him. He would postpone the visit of gratitude, and do it first thing to-morrow morning in a clean collar.

      The hall clock at his lodgings announced the hour as close on five, and he mentally noted that the timepiece was inaccurate—three and a half minutes behind Greenwich. As usual, the hall was untenanted, with no servant to answer questions. He searched the dark recesses of a dirty letter-rack, on the chance that he might find a telegram from his wife waiting for him. Then he went gaily up the interminable staircase, making nothing now of its five flights, enjoying their steepness as productive of agreeable exercise.

      "Hulloa!" he muttered. "What's this?"

      A woman's hat and parasol were lying on a chair, and there was a valise on the floor by the chest of drawers. Turning, he gave a cry of delight. Mavis was stretched on the bed, fast asleep.

      She woke at the sound of his voice, scrambled down, and flung herself into his arms.

      "Will, oh, Will. My dearest Will!

      "My darling—my little sweetheart. But how have you come to me—have you flown?"

      "Don't be silly."

      He was devouring her face with his kisses, straining her to his breast in a paroxysm of pleasure, almost suffocating himself and her in the ardor of the embrace, and jerking out his words as though they were gasps for breath.

      "When did you get my wire? Why, it's impossible. I on'y wired two-forty-three. Is it witchcraft or just a dream?"

      "Did you wire? I never got it. I was so anxious that I couldn't stay there any longer without news. So I just packed and came. Will—be sensible. Tell me everything."

      "Best of news! Reinstated!" He bellowed the glad tidings over her head. She was all warm and palpitating in his arms, her dear body so delicate and fragile and yet so round and firm, her dear face soft and smooth, with lips that trembled and smelled like garden flowers.

      "Did you come up by the nine o'clock train? How long have you been waiting here?"

      "Oh, don't bother about me. I'm nothing. It's you I want to hear about."

      Then they sat side by side on the narrow little bed, he with his arm firmly clasped round her waist, and she nestling against him with her face hidden on his breast.

      "Mav, my bird, I can't never leave you again. I've bin just a lost dog without you. Did you start before you got my Sunday letter?"

      "Yes."

      "Every day I wrote—didn't I?—just like the old time. But I've a bone to pick with you, young lady. What d'ye mean by not writing to me more regular? Not even so much as a post-card these last three days!"

      "Will—I, I couldn't. I was too anxious while it all remained in suspense."

      "Yes, but you might have sent me a card. I told you cards would satisfy me. I was thinking of you off and on all yesterday. I can tell you it was just about the longest day of my life. Did you and Auntie go to church?"

      "No. Oh, don't ask questions about me—when I'm dying for a full account of it."

      He asked no more questions. After stooping to kiss the fragrant coil of hair above her forehead, he burst out into his joyous tale of triumph.

      "It was Mr. Barradine that did the trick for me;" and with enthusiasm he narrated the gloriously opportune arrival of "the friend at court." Indeed his enthusiasm was so great that he could not keep still while speaking. He got off the bed, and walked about the room, brandishing his arms. "He's just a tip-topper. If you could have been there to hear him, you wouldn't 'a' left off crying yet. I tell you I was fairly overcome myself. It was the way he did it. 'Of course,' he said, 'I want my friend to come out of it as I honestly believe he deserves.' They couldn't stand up against him half a minute. But, mind you, Mav;" and Dale stopped moving, and spoke solemnly, "he's aged surprising these last few years. He's more feeble like than ever one would think, seeing him on his horse. I mean, his bodily frame. The int'lect's more powerful, I should make the guess, than ever it was. … And mind you, here's another thing, Mav;" and he spoke even more solemnly. "All this is going to be a lesson to me. I've worn my considering cap most of the time I've been away from you—and, Mav, I'm going to lay to heart the fruits of my experience. All's well that ends well, old lady. But once bit, twice shy; and in the future I'm