“I want to know! Now do tell; if there ain’t mother standing at the gate, and opening it for us, too,” exclaimed Mr Snow, in astonishment and delight. “That is the farthest she’s been yet, and it begins to look a little like getting well, now, don’t it?”

“I hope nothing has happened,” said Rose, a little anxiously.

“I guess not nothing to fret over. Her face don’t look like it. Well, mother, you feel pretty smart to-night, don’t you? You look first-rate.”

“I am just as usual,” said Mrs Snow, quietly. “But what has kept you so long? We were beginning to wonder about you.”

“Has anything happened?” said Rose, looking over Mrs Snow’s head, at a little crowd of people coming out at the door.

“We have visitors, that is all. The minister is here, and a friend of yours your brother Harry’s partner. He has brought news not bad news, at least he doesna seem to think so, nor Miss Graeme. I have hardly heard it myself, yet, or seen the young man, for I was tired and had to lie down. But you’ll hear it yourself in due time.”

Rose reined her horse aside.

“Take care, dear,” said Mrs Snow, as she sprung to the ground without assistance. “There is no need for such haste. You might have waited for Sandy or some one to help you, I think.”

“What is it, Graeme?” said Rose, for her sister looked flashed and excited, and there were traces of tears on her cheeks she was sure. But she did not look anxious certainly not unhappy.

“Rosie, dear, Charlie has come.”

“Oh! Charlie has come, has he? That is it, is it?” said Rose, with a long breath.

Yes, there was Mr Millar, offering his hand and smiling “exactly like himself,” Rose thought, but she could not tell very well, for her eyes were dazzled with the red light of the setting sun. But she was very glad to see him, she told him; and she told the minister she was very glad to see him, too, in the very same tone, the next minute. There was not much time to say anything, however, for Hannah whose patience had been tried by the delay announced that tea was on the table, in a tone quite too peremptory to be trifled with.

“Rose, you are tired, I am sure. Never mind taking off your habit till after tea.”

Rose confessed herself tired after her long and rapid ride.

“For I left Mr Snow at Major Spring’s, and went on a long way by myself, and it is just possible, that, after all, you are right, and I have gone too far for the first ride; for see, I am a little shaky,” added she, as the teacup she passed to Mr Snow trembled in her hand.

Then she asked Mr Millar about the news he had brought them, and whether all were well, and a question or two besides; and then she gave herself up to the pleasure of listening to the conversation of the minister, and it came into Graeme’s mind that if Harry had been there he would have said she was amusing herself with a little serious flirtation. Graeme did not think so, or, if she did, it did not make her angry as it would have made Harry; for though she said little, except to the grave wee Rosie Nasmyth, whom she had taken under her care, she looked very bright and glad. Rose looked at her once or twice, a little startled, and after a while, in watching her, evidently lost the thread of the minister’s entertaining discourse, and answered him at random.

“I have a note from Harry,” said Graeme, as they left the tea-table. “Here it is. Go and take off your habit. You look hot and tired.”

In a little while the visitors were gone and Mr Millar was being put through a course of questions by Mr Snow. Graeme sat and listened to them, and thought of Rose, who, all the time, was sitting up-stairs with Harry’s letter in her hand.

It was not a long letter. Rose had time to read it a dozen times over, Graeme knew, but still she lingered, for a reason she could not have told to any one, which she did not even care to make very plain to herself. Mr Snow was asking, and Mr Millar was answering, questions about Scotland, and Will, and Mr Ruthven, and every word that was said was intensely interesting to her; and yet, while she listened eagerly, and put in a word now and then that showed how much she cared, she was conscious all the time, that she was listening for the sound of a movement overhead, or for her sister’s footstep on the stair. By and by, as Charlie went on, in answer to Mr Snow’s questions, to tell about the state of agriculture in his native shire, her attention wandered altogether, and she listened only for the footsteps.

“She may perhaps think it strange that I do not go up at once. I daresay it is foolish in me. Very likely this news will be no more to her than to me.”

“Where is your sister?” said Mrs Snow, who, as well as Graeme, had been attending to two things at once. “I doubt the foolish lassie has tired herself with riding too far.”

“I will go and see,” said Graeme.

Before she entered her sister’s room Rose called to her.

“Is it you, Graeme? What do you think of Harry’s news? He has not lost much time, has he?”

“I was surprised,” said Graeme.

Rose was busy brushing her hair.

“Surprised! I should think so. Did you ever think such a thing might happen, Graeme?”

This was Harry’s letter.

“My Dear Sisters, I have won my Amy! You cannot be more astonished than I am. I know I am not good enough for her, but I love her dearly, and it will go hard with me if I don’t make her happy. I only want to be assured that you are both delighted, to make my happiness complete.”

Throwing her hair back a little, Rose read it again. This was not quite all. There was a postscript over the page, which Rose had at first overlooked, and she was not sure that Graeme had seen it. Besides, it had nothing to do with the subject matter of the note.

“Did the thought of such a thing ever come into your mind?” asked she again, as she laid the letter down.

“Yes,” said Graeme, slowly. “It did come into my mind more than once. And, on looking back, I rather wonder that I did not see it all. I can remember now a good many things that looked like it, but I never was good at seeing such affairs approaching, you know.”

“Are you glad, Graeme?”

“Yes, I am glad. I believe I shall be very glad when I have had time to think about it.”

“Because Harry’s happiness won’t be complete unless you are, you know,” said Rose, laughing.

“I am sure Harry is quite sincere in what he says about it,” said Graeme.

“It is not to be doubted. I daresay she is a nice little thing; and, after all, it won’t make the same difference to us that Fanny’s coming did.”

“No, if we are to consider it with reference to ourselves. But I think I am very glad for Harry’s sake.”

“And that is more than we could have said for Arthur. However, there is no good going back to that now. It has all turned out very well.”

“Things mostly do, if people will have patience,” said Graeme, “and I am sure this will, for Harry, I mean. I was always inclined to like little Amy, only only, we saw very little of her you know and yes, I am sure I shall love her dearly.”

“Well, you must make haste to tell Harry so, to complete his happiness. And he is very much astonished at his good fortune,” said Rose, taking up the letter again. “`Not good enough for her,’ he says. That is the humility of true love, I suppose; and, really, if he is pleased, we may be. I daresay she is a nice little thing.”

“She is more than just a nice little thing. You should hear what Mr Millar says of her.”

“He ought to know! `Poor Charlie,’ as Harry calls him in the pride of his success. Go down-stairs, Graeme, and I will follow in a minute; I am nearly ready!”

The postscript which Rose was not sure whether Graeme had seen, said, “poor Charlie,” and intimated that Harry’s sisters owed him much kindness for the trouble he was taking in going so far to carry them the news in person. Not Harry’s own particular news, Rose supposed, but tidings of Will, and of all that was likely to interest them from both sides of the sea.

“I would like to know why he calls him `poor Charlie,’” said Rose, with a shrug. “I suppose, however, we must all seem like objects of compassion to Harry, at the moment of his triumph, as none of us have what has fallen to him.”

Graeme went down without a word, smiling to herself as she went. She had seen the postscript, and she thought she knew why Harry had written “poor Charlie,” but she said nothing to Rose. The subject of conversation had changed during her absence, it seemed.

“I want to know! Do tell!” Mr Snow was saying. “I call that first-rate news, if it is as you say, Mr Millar. Do the girls know it? Graeme, do you know that Harry is going to be married.”

“Yes, so Harry tells me.”

“And who is the lady? Is it anyone we know about? Roxbury,” repeated Mr Snow, with a puzzled look. “But it seems to me I thought I heard different. I don’t seem to understand.”

He looked anxiously into the face of his wife as though she could help him.

“That’s not to be wondered at,” said she, smiling. “It seems Miss Graeme herself has been taken by surprise. But she is well pleased for all that. Harry has been in no great hurry, I think.”

“But that ain’t just as I understood it,” persisted Mr Snow. “What does Rose say? She told me this afternoon, when we were riding, something or other, but it sartain wa’n’t that.”

“It could hardly be that, since the letter came when you were away, and even Miss Graeme knew nothing of it till she got the letter,” said Mrs Snow, with some impatience.

“Rosie told me,” went on Mr Snow. “Here she is. What was it you were telling me this afternoon about about our friend here?”

“Oh! I told you a great many things that it would not do to repeat,” and though Rose laughed, she reddened, too, and looked appealingly at Graeme.

“Wasn’t Roxbury the name of the lady, that you told me was ”

“Oh! Uncle Sampson! Never mind.”

“Dear me,” said Mrs Snow, “what need you make a mystery out of such plain reading. Miss Graeme has gotten a letter telling her that her brother Harry is going to be married; and what is there so wonderful about that?”

“Just so,” said Mr Snow. He did not understand it the least in the world, but he understood that, for some reason or other, Mrs Snow wanted nothing more said about it, so he meant to say no more; and, after a minute, he made Rose start and laugh nervously by the energy with which he repeated, “Just so;” and still he looked from Graeme to Mr Millar, as though he expected them to tell him something.

“Harry’s letter gives the news, and that is all,” said Graeme.

“But I cannot understand your surprise,” said Mr Millar, not to Mr Snow, but to Graeme. “I thought you must have seen it all along.”

“Did you see it all along?” asked Mr Snow, looking queer.

“I was in Harry’s confidence; but even if I had not been, I am sure I must have seen it. I almost think I knew what was coming before he knew it himself, at the very first.”

“The very first?” repeated Graeme. “When was that? In the spring? Before the time we went to Mrs Roxbury’s, on the evening of the Convocation?”

“Oh! yes! long before that before Miss Rose came home from the West. Indeed, I think it was love at first sight, as far as Harry was concerned,” added Mr Millar, with an embarrassed laugh, coming suddenly to the knowledge of the fact that Mr Snow was regarding him with curious eyes. But Mr Snow turned his attention to Rose.

“What do you say to that?” asked he.

“I have nothing to say,” said Rose, pettishly. “I was not in Harry’s confidence.”

“So it seems,” said Mr Snow, meditatively.

“I am sure you will like her when you know her better,” said Mr Millar.

“Oh! if Harry likes her that is the chief thing,” said Rose, with a shrug. “It won’t matter much to the rest of us I mean to Graeme and me.”

“It will matter very much to us,” said Graeme, “and I know I shall love her dearly, and so will you, Rosie, when she is our sister, and I mean to write to Harry to-morrow and to her, too, perhaps.”

“She wants very much to know you, and I am sure you will like each other,” said Mr Millar looking deprecatingly at Rose, who was not easy or comfortable in her mind any one could see.

“Just tell me one thing, Rose,” said Mr Snow. “How came you to suppose that ”

But the question was not destined to be answered by Rose, at least not then. A matter of greater importance was to be laid before her, for the door opened suddenly, and Hannah put in her head.

“Where on earth did you put the yeast-jug, Rose? I have taken as many steps as I want to after it; if you had put it back in its place it would have paid, I guess. It would have suited me better, and I guess it would have suited better all round.”

Her voice betrayed a struggle between offended dignity and decided crossness. Rose was a little hysterical, Graeme thought, or she never would have laughed about such an important matter in Hannah’s face. For Hannah knew her own value, which was not small in the household, and she was not easily propitiated when a slight was given or imagined, as no one knew better than Rose. And before company, too! company with whom Hannah had not been “made acquainted,” as Hannah, and the sisterhood generally in Merleville, as a rule, claimed to be. It was dreadful temerity on Rose’s part.

“Oh! Hannah, I forgot all about it.”

But the door was suddenly closed. Rose hastened after her in haste and confusion.

Mr Snow had been deeply meditating, and he was evidently not aware that anything particular had been happening, for he turned suddenly to Mr Millar, and said,

“I understood that it was you who was eh who was keeping company with Miss Roxbury?”

“Did you think so, Miss Elliott,” said Charlie, in some astonishment.

“Mr Snow,” said his wife, in a voice that brought him to her side in an instant. “You may have read in the Book, how there is a time to keep silence, as well as a time to speak, and the bairn had no thought of having her words repeated again, though she might have said that to you.”

She spoke very softly, so that the others did not hear, and Mr Snow would have looked penitent, if he had not looked so bewildered. Raising her voice a little, she added,

“You might just go out, and tell Hannah to send Jabez over to Emily’s about the yeast, if she has taken too many steps to go herself; for Miss Rose is tired, and it is growing dark; and besides, there is no call for her to go Hannah’s messages though you may as well no’ say that to her, either.”

But the door opened, and Rose came in again.

“I can’t even find the jug,” she said, pretending great consternation. “And this is the second one I have been the death of. Oh! here it is. I must have left it here in the morning, and wee Rosie’s flowers are in it! Oh! yes, dear, I must go. Hannah is going, and I must go with her. She is just a little bit cross, you know. And, besides, I want to tell her the news,” and she went away.

Mr Snow, feeling that he had, in some way, been compromising himself, went and sat down beside his wife, to be out of the temptation to do it again, and Mr Millar said again, to Graeme, very softly this time,

“Did you think so, Miss Elliott?”

Graeme hesitated.

“Yes, Charlie. I must confess, there did, more than once, come into my mind the possibility that Harry and his friend and partner might find themselves rivals for the favour of the sweet little Amy. But you must remember, that ”

But Charlie interrupted her, eagerly.

“And did did your sister think so, too? No, don’t answer me ” added he, suddenly rising, and going first to the window to look out, and then, out at the door. In a little Graeme rose, and went out too, and followed him down the path, to the gate, over which he was leaning. There was no time to speak, however, before they heard the voices of Rose and Hannah, coming toward them. Hannah was propitiated, Graeme knew by the sound of her voice. Mr Millar opened the gate for them to pass, and Graeme said, “You have not been long, Rosie.”

“Are you here, Graeme,” said Rose, for it was quite dark, by this time. “Hannah, this is Mr Millar, my brother Harry’s friend and partner.” And then she added, with great gravity, according to the most approved Merleville formula of introduction, “Mr Millar, I make you acquainted with Miss Lovejoy.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Millar. I hope I see you wed,” said Miss Lovejoy, with benignity. If Mr Millar was not quite equal to the occasion, Miss Lovejoy was, and she said exactly what was proper to be said in the circumstances, and neither Graeme nor Rose needed to say anything till they got into the house again.

“There! that is over,” said Rose, with a sigh of relief.

“The getting of the yeast?” said Graeme, laughing.

“Yes, and the pacification of Miss Lovejoy.”

It was not quite over, however, Graeme thought in the morning. For Rose seemed to think it necessary to give a good deal of her time to household matters, whether it was still with a view to the good humour of Hannah or not, was not easy to say. But she could only give a divided attention to their visitor, and to the account of all that he and Will had done and enjoyed together. Graeme and he walked up and down the garden for a while, and when Mrs Snow had risen, and was in the sitting-room, they came and sat down beside her, and, after a time, Rose came too. But it was Graeme who asked questions, and who drew Mr Millar out, to tell about their adventures, and misadventures, and how Will had improved in all respects, and how like his father all the old people thought him. Even Mrs Snow had more to say than Rose, especially when he went on to tell about Clayton, and the changes that had taken place there.

“Will fancied, before he went, that he remembered all the places distinctly; and was very loth to confess that he had been mistaken. I suppose, that his imagination had had as much to do with his idea of his native place, as his memory, and when, at last, we went down the glen where your mother used to live, and where he distinctly remembered going to see her with you, not long before you all came away, he acknowledged as much. He stepped across the burn at the widest part, and then he told me, laughing, that he had always thought of the burn at that place, as being about as wide as the Merle river, just below the mill bridge, however wide that may be. It was quite a shock to him, I assure you. And then the kirk, and the manse, and all the village, looked old, and small, and queer, when he came to compare them with the pictures of them he had kept in his mind, all these years. The garden he remembered, and the lane beyond it, but I think the only things he found quite as he expected to find them, were the laburnum trees, in that lane,” and on Charlie went, from one thing to another, drawn on by a question, put now and then by Graeme, or Mrs Snow, whenever he made a pause.

But all that was said need not be told here. By and by, he rose and went out, and when he came back, he held an open book on his hand, and on one of its open pages lay a spray of withered ivy, gathered, he said, from the kirkyard wall, from a great branch that hung down over the spot where their mother lay. And when he had laid it down on Graeme’s lap, he turned and went out again.

“I mind the spot well,” said Mrs Snow, softly.

“I mind it, too,” said Graeme.

Rose did not “mind” it, nor any other spot of her native land, nor the young mother who had lain so many years beneath the drooping ivy. But she stooped to touch with her lips, the faded leaves that spoke of her, and then she laid her cheek down on Graeme’s knee, and did not speak a word, except to say that she had quite forgotten all.

By and by, Mr Snow came in, and something was said about showing Merleville to their visitor, and so arranging matters that time should be made to pass pleasantly to him.

“Oh! as to that, he seems no’ ill to please,” said Mrs Snow. “Miss Graeme might take him down to the village to Mr Greenleaf’s and young Mr Merle’s, if she likes; but, as to letting him see Merleville, I think the thing that is of most importance is, that all Merleville should see him.”

“There is something in that. I don’t suppose Merleville is any more to him than any other place, except that Harry and the rest had their home here, for a spell. But all the Merleville folks will want to see him, I expect.”

Rose laughingly suggested that a town meeting should be called for the purpose.

“Well, I calculate that won’t be necessary. If he stays over Sunday, it will do as well. The folks will have a chance to see him at meeting, though, I suppose it won’t be best to tell him so, before he goes. Do you suppose he means to stay over Sunday, Rosie?”

“I haven’t asked him,” said Rose.

“It will likely depend on how he is entertained, how long he stays,” said Mrs Snow. “I daresay he will be in no hurry to get home, for a day or two. And Rosie, my dear, you must help your sister to make it pleasant for your brother’s friend.”

“Oh! he’s no’ ill to please, as you said yourself,” answered Rose.

It was well that he was not, or her failure to do her part in the way of amusing him, might have sooner fallen under general notice. They walked down to the village in the afternoon, first to Mr Merle’s, and then to Mr Greenleaf’s. Here, Master Elliott at once took possession of Rose, and they went away together, and nothing more was seen of them, till tea had been waiting for some time. Then they came in, and Mr Perry came with them. He stayed to tea, of course, and made himself agreeable, as he always did, and when they went home, he said he would walk with them part of the way. He had most of the talk to himself, till they came to the foot of the hill, when he bade them, reluctantly, good-night. They were very quiet the rest of the way, and when they reached home, the sisters went up-stairs at once together, and though it was quite dark, neither of them seemed in a great hurry to go down again.

“Rose,” said Graeme, in a little, “where ever did you meet Mr Perry this afternoon? And why did you bring him to Mr Greenleaf’s with you?”

“I did not bring him to Mr Greenleaf’s. He came of his own free will. And I did not meet him anywhere. He followed us down past the mill. We were going for oak leaves. Elliott had seen some very pretty ones there, and I suppose Mr Perry had seen them, too. Are you coming down, Graeme?”

“In a little. Don’t wait for me, if you wish to go.”

“Oh! I am in no haste,” said Rose, sitting down by the window. “What are you going to say to me, Graeme?”

But if Graeme had anything to say, she decided not to say it then.

“I suppose we ought to go down.”

Rose followed her in silence. They found Mr and Mrs Snow alone.

“Mr Millar has just stepped out,” said Mr Snow. “So you had the minister to-night, again, eh, Rosie? It seems to me, he is getting pretty fond of visiting, ain’t he?”

Rose laughed.

“I am sure that is a good thing. The people will like that, won’t they?”

“The people he goes to see will, I don’t doubt.”

“Well, we have no reason to complain. He has given us our share of his visits, always,” said Mrs Snow, in a tone that her husband knew was meant to put an end to the discussion of the subject. Graeme was not so observant, however.

“It was hardly a visit he made at Mr Greenleaf’s to-night. He came in just, before tea, and left when we left, immediately after. He walked with us to the foot of the hill.”

“He was explaining to Elliott and me the chemical change that takes place in the leaves, that makes the beautiful autumn colours we were admiring so much,” said Rose. “He is great in botany and chemistry, Elliott says.”

And then it came out how he had crossed the bridge, and found them under the oak trees behind the mill, and what talk there had been about the sunset and the leaves, and a good deal more. Mr Snow turned an amused yet doubtful look from her to his wife; but Mrs Snow’s closely shut lips said so plainly, “least said soonest mended,” that he shut his lips, too.

It would have been as well if Graeme had done so, also she thought afterwards; but she had made up her mind to say something to her sister that night, whether she liked it or not, and so standing behind her, as she was brushing out her hair, she said,

“I think it was rather foolish in Mr Perry to come to Mr Greenleaf’s to-night, and to come away with us afterwards.”

“Do you think so?” said Rose.

“Yes. And I fancied Mr and Mrs Greenleaf thought so, too. I saw them exchanging glances more than once.”

“Did you? It is to be hoped the minister did not see them.”

“Merleville people are all on the watch and they are so fond of talking. It is not at all nice, I think.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know. It depends a little on what they say,” said Rose, knotting up her hair. “And I don’t suppose Mr Perry will hear it.”

“I have commenced wrong,” said Graeme to herself. “But I must just say a word to her, now I have began. It was of ourselves I was thinking, Rose of you, rather. And it is not nice to be talked, about. Rosie, tell me just how much you care about Mr Perry.”

“Tell me just how much you care about him, dear,” said Rose.

“I care quite enough for him, to hope that he will not be annoyed or made unhappy. Do you really care for him, Rosie?”

“Do you, Graeme?”

“Rose, I am quite in earnest. I see I am afraid the good foolish man wants you to care for him, and if you don’t ”

“Well, dear if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, you must not act so that he may fancy you do, Rose. I think there is some danger in his caring for you.”

“He cares quite as much for you as he cares for me, Graeme, and with better reason.”

“Dear, I have not thought about his caring for either of us till lately. Indeed, I never let the thought trouble me till last night, after Mr Millar came, and again, to-night. Rosie, you must not be angry with what I say.”

“Of course not. But I think you must dispose of Mr Perry, before you bring another name into your accusation; Graeme, dear, I don’t care a pin for Mr Perry, nor he for me, if that will please you. But you are not half so clever at this sort of thing as Harry. You should have began at once by accusing me of claiming admiration, and flirting, and all that. It is best to come to the point at once.”

“You said you would not be angry, Rose.”

“Did I? Well, I am not so sore about it as I was a minute ago. And what is the use of vexing one another. Don’t say any more to-night.”

Indeed, what could be said to Rose in that mood. So Graeme shut her lips, too.

In the mean time Mr Snow had opened his, in the privacy of their chamber.

“It begins to look a little like it, don’t it?” said he.

He got no answer.

“I’d a little rather it had been Graeme, but Rosie would be a sight better than neither of them.”

“I’m by no means sure of that,” said Mrs Snow, sharply. “Rosie’s no’ a good bairn just now, and I’m no’ weel pleased with her.”

“Don’t be hard on Rosie,” said Mr Snow, gently.

“Hard on her! You ought to have more sense by this time. Rosie’s no’ thinking about the minister, and he hasna been thinking o’ her till lately only men are such fools. Forgive me for saying it about the minister.”

“Well, I thought, myself, it was Graeme for a spell, and I’d a little rather it would be. She’s older, and she’s just right in every way. It would be a blessing to more than the minister. It seems as though it was just the right thing. Now, don’t it?”

“I canna say. It is none the more likely to come to pass because of that, as you might ken yourself by this time,” said his wife, gravely.

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that. There’s Aleck and Emily.”

“Hoot, fie, man! They cared for one another, and neither Miss Graeme, nor her sister, care a penny piece for yon man for the minister, I mean.”

“You don’t think him good enough,” said Mr Snow, discontentedly.

“Nonsense! I think him good enough for anybody that will take him. He is a very good man what there is o’ him,” added she, under her breath. “But it will be time enough to speak about it, when there is a chance of its happening. I’m no weel pleased with Rosie. If it werena that, as a rule, I dinna like to meddle with such matters, I would have a word with her myself. The bairn doesna ken her ain mind, I’m thinking.”

The next day was rainy, but not so rainy as to prevent Mr Snow from fulfilling his promise to take Mr Millar to see some wonderful cattle, which bade fair to make Mr Nasmyth’s a celebrated name in the county, and before they came home again, Mrs Snow took the opportunity to say a word, not to Rose, but to Graeme, with regard to her.

“What ails Rosie at your brother’s partner, young Mr Millar?” asked she. “I thought they would have been friends, having known one another so long.”

“Friends!” repeated Graeme. “Are they not friends? What makes you speak in that way, Janet?”

“Friends they are not,” repeated Mrs Snow, emphatically. “But whether they are less than friends, or more, I canna weel make out. Maybe you can help me, dear.”

“I cannot, indeed,” said Graeme, laughing a little uneasily. “I am afraid Charlie’s visit is not to give any of us unmingled pleasure.”

“It is easy seen what she is to him, poor lad, and I canna but think my dear, you should speak to your sister.”

“But, Janet, Rosie is not an easy person to speak to about some things. And, besides, it is not easy to know whether one may not do harm, rather than good, by speaking. I did speak to her last night about about Mr Perry.”

“About the minister! And what did she answer? She cares little about him, I’m thinking. It’s no’ pretty in her to amuse herself so openly at his expense, poor man, though there’s some excuse, too when he shows so little discretion.”

“But, amusing herself, Janet! That is rather hard on Rosie. It is not that, I think.”

“Is it not? What is it, then? The bairn is not in earnest. I hope it may all come to a good ending.”

“Oh! Janet! I hope it may. But I don’t like to think of endings. Rosie must belong to some one else some day, I suppose. The best thing I can wish for her is that I may lose her for her sake, but it is not a happy thing to think of for mine.”

“Miss Graeme, my dear, that is not like you.”

“Indeed, Janet, it is just like me. I can’t bear to think about it. As for the minister ” Graeme shrugged her shoulders.

“You needna trouble yourself about the minister, my dear. It will no’ be him. If your friend yonder would but take heart of grace I have my own thoughts.”

“Oh! I don’t know. We need not be in a hurry.”

“But, dear, think what you were telling me the other day, about your sister going out by herself to seek her fortune. Surely, that would be far worse.”

“But she would not have to go by herself. I should go with her, and Janet, I have sometimes the old dread of change upon me, as I used to have long ago.”

“But, my dear, why should you? All the changes in our lot are in good hands. I dinna need to tell you that, after all these years. And as for the minister, you needna be afraid for him.”

Graeme laughed; and though the entrance of Rose prevented any more being said, she laughed again to herself, in a way to excite her sister’s astonishment.

“I do believe Janet is pitying me a little, because of the minister’s inconstancy,” she said to herself. “Why am I laughing at it, Rosie? You must ask Mrs Snow.”

“My dear, how can I tell your sister’s thoughts? It is at them, she is laughing, and I think the minister has something to do with it, though it is not like her, either, to laugh at folk in an unkindly way.”

“It is more like me, you think,” said Rose, pouting. “And as for the minister, she is very welcome to him, I am sure.”

“Nonsense, Rose! Let him rest. I am sure Deacon Snow would think us very irreverent to speak about the minister in that way. Tell me what you are going to do to-day?”

Rosie had plenty to do, and by and by she became absorbed in the elaborate pattern which she was working on a frock for wee Rosie, and was rather more remiss than before, as to doing her part for the entertainment of their guest. She had not done that from the beginning, but her quietness and preoccupation were more apparent, because the rain kept them within doors. Graeme saw it, and tried to break through it or cover it as best she might. Mrs Snow saw it, and sometimes looked grave, and sometimes amused, but she made no remarks about it. As for Mr Millar, if he noticed her silence and preoccupation, he certainly did not resent them, but gave to the few words she now and then put in, an eager attention that went far beyond their worth; and had she been a princess, and he but a humble vassal, he could not have addressed her with more respectful deference.

And so the days passed on, till one morning something was said by Mr Millar, about its being time to draw his visit to a close. It was only a word, and might have fallen to the ground without remark, as he very possibly intended it should do; but Mr Snow set himself to combat the idea of his going away so soon, with an energy and determination that brought them all into the discussion in a little while.

“Unless there is something particular taking you home, you may as well stay for a while longer. At any rate, it ain’t worth while to go before Sunday. You ought to stay and hear our minister preach, now you’ve got acquainted with him. Oughtn’t he, Graeme?”

Graeme smiled.

“Oh! yes, he ought to stay for so good a reason as that is.”

“There are worse preachers than Mr Perry,” said Mrs Snow, gravely.

“Oh! come now, mother. That ain’t saying much. There ain’t a great many better preachers in our part of the world, whatever they may be where you live. To be sure, if you leave to-night after tea, you can catch the night cars for Boston, and stay there over Sunday, and have your pick of some pretty smart men. But you’d better stay. Not but what I could have you over to Rixford in time, as well as not, if it is an object to you. But you better stay, hadn’t he, girls? What do you say, Rose?”

“And hear Mr Perry preach? Oh! certainly,” said Rose, gravely.

“Oh! he will stay,” said Graeme, laughing, with a little vexation. “It is my belief he never meant to go, only he likes to be entreated. Now confess, Charlie.”