considered as an answer. I never was fast'--said Miss Hazel,--
'but trying to hoodwink me is not likely to make me slow,'--and
she went off to don her habit and gather herself up for the
ride.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

A COTTON MILL.

As she came to the side door, she saw Rollo just dismounting
from Jeannie Deans, and immediately preparing to remove his
saddle and substitute the side-saddle; which he did with the
care used on a former occasion. But Jeannie had raised her
head and given a whinny of undoubted pleasure.

'Let her go, Mr. Rollo,' whispered Lewis.

And so released, the little brown steed set off at once,
walking straight to the verandah steps, pausing there and
looking up to watch Hazel, renewing her greeting in lower
tones, as if _this_ were private and confidential. Hazel ran
down the steps, and made her fingers busy with bridle and
mane, giving furtive caresses. Only when she was mounted, and
Rollo had turned, his ear caught the sound of one or two
little soft whispers that were meant for Jeannie's ears alone.

Perhaps the gentleman wanted to give Wych Hazel's thoughts a
convenient diversion; perhaps he wished to get upon some safe
common ground of interest and intercourse; perhaps he purposed
to wear off any awkwardness that might embarrass their mutual
good understanding; for he prefaced the ride with a series of
instructions in horsemanship. Mr. Falkirk had never let his
ward practise leaping; Rollo knew that; but now, and with Mr.
Falkirk looking on, he ordered up the two grooms with a bar,
and gave Wych Hazel a lively time for half an hour. A good
solid riding lesson, too; and probably for that space of time
at least attained all his ends. But when he himself was
mounted, and they had set off upon a quiet descent of the
Chickaree hill, out of sight of Mr. Falkirk, all Wych Hazel's
shyness came back again; hiding itself behind reserve. Rollo
was in rather a gay mood.

'It is good practice,' he said. 'Did you ever go through a
cotton mill?'

'Never.'

'How would you like to go through one to-day?'

'Why--I do not know. Very well, I daresay.'

So with this slight and doubtful encouragement, Rollo again
took the way to Morton Hollow. It was early October now; the
maples and hickories showing red and yellow; the air a
wonderful compound of spicy sweetness and strength; the heaven
over their heads mottled with filmy stretches of cloud, which
seemed to float in the high ether quite at rest.