"My hair used to be a real chestnut. Do you mean
chestnut?"
"I guess I do. It's a pretty color."
Martha looked at him with a queer shyness in her married eyes, then
tossed her head a little and thrust her darning-needle into the gray
stocking with a jaunty air. "That's what you used to say," she said.
After a while, noticing his tired lounge in the old chair, she said
kindly, "Why did you stay so long at Dr. Lavendar's, Willy? You look
tired. Do go to bed."
"Oh," William explained, "I didn't stay very long; he asked me to see
Mrs. Richie home. She had taken tea with him."
Martha's face suddenly hardened. "Oh," she said coldly. Then, after a
short silence: "Mrs. Richie's hair is too untidy for my taste."
When Dr. Lavendar went back into the study he found David curled up in
an arm-chair in profound meditation.
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Dr. Lavendar said.
"Yesterday. After church."
"Thinking about yesterday?" Dr. Lavendar repeated puzzled. David
offered no explanation, and the old minister searched his memory for
any happening of interest after church ... but found none. He had come
out of the vestry and in the church David had joined him, following
him down the aisle to the door and waiting close behind him through
the usual Sunday greetings: "Morning, Sam!" "Good morning, Dr.
Lavendar." "How are you, Ezra? How many drops of water make the mighty
ocean, Ezra?" "The amount of water might be estimated in tons, Dr.
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