In a minute they saw the door in an opening niche at the corner of the house; on its steps sat the old preacher, his grey hair shining, his bronzed face bathed in moonlight.
He sat peaceful and quiet, his hands clasped.

Harkness next led them through, a dark overgrown walk, and, true to his promise, brought them at once to the other fence.

He seemed to use the old paling as a gate whenever the fancy took him.

He pulled away two of the rotten soft wood pales and helped the girls gallantly on to their father's property.
"Charmed, I'm sure, to be of use, ladies!" cried he, and he made his bow.
On the other side of their own fence, knee-deep in dry uncut grass, they stood together a few paces from the gap he had made, and proffered their earnest thanks.
"Say," said Harkness, abruptly, "d'you often see Miss White up to your house ?" "Eliza, do you mean ?" said they, with just a slight intonation to signify that they did not look upon her as a "Miss." Their further answer represented the exact extent of their knowledge in the matter.
"She didn't come much for a good while, but last week she came to tea.
It is arranged for mamma to ask her to tea once in a while, and we're all to try and be nice to her, because--well, our sister says, now that people pay her attentions, she ought to have a place where she can come to, where she can feel she has friends." "How d'ye mean--'pay her attentions' ?" "That was what we heard sister Sophia say," they replied, pursing up their little lips.

They knew perfectly well what the phrase meant, but they were not going to confess it.