e we were acquainted. If you will
let me drive you out into the country to-morrow I will tell you the
whole of my silly story. The country roads are what you need, and I need
your consideration as much."

The next day a buggy stopped at the door, and Podge, sitting at the
window with her bonnet on, saw Duff Salter, hale and strong, holding the
reins. She was helped into the buggy by Andrew Zane, and in a few
minutes the two were in the open country pointing toward old Frankford.
They rode up the long stony street of that old village, whose stone or
rough-cast houses suggested the Swiss city of Basle whence the early
settlers of Frankford came. Then turning through the factory dale called
Little Britain, they sped out the lane, taking the general direction of
Tacony Creek, and followed that creek up through different little
villages and mill-seats until they came to nearly the highest mill-pond,
in the stony region about the Old York road. A house of gray and reddish
stones, in irregular forms, mortised in white plaster, sat broadside to
the lawn before it, which was covered with venerable trees, and bordered
at the roadside by a stone rampart, so that it looked like a hanging
lawn. A gate at the lawn-side gave admission to a lane, behind which was
the ancient mill-pond suspended in a dewy landscape, with a path in the
grass leading up the mill-race, and on the pond a little scow floated in
pond-lilies. All around were chestnut trees, their burrs full of fruit.
Across the lane, only a few feet from the house, the ancient mill gave
forth a snoring and drumming together as if the spirit of solitude was
having a dance all to itself and only breathing hard. Then the crystal
water, shooting the old black mill-wheel, fell off it like the beard
from Duff Salter's face, and went away in pools and flakes across a
meadow, under spontaneous willow trees which liked to stand in moisture
and cover with their roots the harmless water-snakes. A few cottages
peeped over the adjacent ridges upon the hidden dale.

"What a restful place!" exclaimed Podge Byerly. "I almost wish I might
be spirit of a mill, or better still, that old boat yonder basking in
the pond-lilies and holding up its shadow!"

"I am glad you like it," said Duff Salter. "Let us go in and see if the
house is hospitable."

As Podge Byerly walked up the worn stone walk of the lawn she saw a
familiar image at the door--her mother.

"You here, mother?" said Podge. "What