He did his best not to grin. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. " "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. "Come and see the lagoon in the moonlight. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass.
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