Some three months later Belding was walking slowly down the main street
of St. Marys. He felt fagged and the sun was hot. Just as he reached
the Dibbotts' white gate he heard a clear voice from behind the clump
of azaleas that screened the cottage from the road.
"Come in, Mr. Belding."
He lifted the latch and saw Mrs. Dibbott in a white dress on the porch.
She seemed cool and restful.
"Sit down here. My, but you look tired!"
"I am," he admitted, mopping his face.
"Then sit where you are and have some elderberry wine and cookies.
They're right from the oven."
He sighed with relief and began to munch contentedly. He had not known
how tired he was, and Mrs. Dibbott's cookies were famous.
"You look played out," she went on sympathetically. "How's Elsie
Worden?"
"Well. But I don't see very much of her nowadays."
"Why?"
"Work." His brain was fermenting with half completed plans and
calculations. He might as well lay it to that.
"Well, why don't you two get married? You will be old before your
time."