ttom of my heart, to
decide it."

"Mr Croft," said she, "when you used to come, nearly every day, to see
me at Midbranch, and we took those long walks in the woods, you never
talked in this way. I considered you as a gentleman whose prudence and
good sense would not allow him to step outside of the path of perfectly
conventional social intercourse. This is not conventional and not
prudent."

"I loved you then, and I love you now;" exclaimed Lawrence. "You must
have known that I loved you, for my declaration does not in the least
surprise you."

"Once--it was the last time you visited Midbranch--I suspected, just a
little, that your mind might be affected somewhat in the way you speak
of, but I supposed that attack of weakness had passed away."

"I know what you mean," said Lawrence, "but I can't endure to talk of
such trifles. I love you, Roberta--"

"Miss March," she interrupted.

"And I want you to tell me if you love me in return."

Miss March rose from the rock where she had been sitting, and her
companion rose with her. After a moment's silence, during which he
watched her with intense eagerness, she said: "Mr Croft, I am going to
give you your choice. Would you prefer being refused under a cherry
tree, or under a sycamore?"

There was a little smile on her lips as she said this, which Lawrence
could not interpret.

"I decline being refused under any tree," he said with vehemence.

"I prefer the cherry tree," said she, "there is a very pretty one over
there on the ridge of this hill, and its leaves are nearly all gone,
which would make it quite appropriate--but what is the meaning of this?
There comes Peggy. It isn't possible that she thinks it's time for me to
give out something to Aunt Judy."

Croft turned, and there was the wooden Peggy, marching steadily up the
hill, and almost upon them.

"What do you want, Peggy?" asked Miss Roberta.

"Dar's a man down to de house dat wants him," pointing to Mr Croft.

Lawrence was very much surprised. "A man who wants me!" he exclaimed.
"You must be mistaken."

"No sah," replied Peggy, "you's de one."

For a moment Lawrence hesitated. His disposition was to let any man in
the world, be he president or king, wait until he had settled this
matter with Miss March. But with Peggy present it was impossible to go
on with the love-making. He might, indeed, send her back with a message,
but the thought came to him that it would be well to postpone for a
little