Anson turned on him. "You mean sneak!" he gasped, "you've been wearin' my Sunday clothes 'stead of your own, an' I didn't know it.",
Harry bowed low. Mrs. Wilson passed through the gate, beaming commendation on him from misty eyes. He closed the gate slowly, his clean shaven, wrinkled face working. He stood and watched her until the bend in the road hid her. Then, placing his tall hat jauntily on his grizzled locks, he turned and walked smartly in the opposite direction.,
"You—" she commenced, her voice tense with passion, "you—" she checked herself. Unconsciously one of the groping hands had come in contact with the soft leather cover of a book which lay on the table..
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