ecause I was afraid I should be too late. I wanted to
speak to you about the lodge-keeper's place, Mr. Haviland."

He had been rather of the opinion that Miss Barholm must be a terrible
young woman, with a tendency to model cottages and night schools.

Young ladies who go out of the ordinary groove are not apt to be
attractive to the average English mind. There are conventional charities
in which they may indulge,--there are Sunday-schools, and rheumatic old
women, and flannel night-caps, and Dorcas societies, and such things
to which people are used and which are likely to alarm nobody. Among a
class of discreet persons these are held to afford sufficient charitable
exercise for any well regulated young woman; and girls whose plans
branch out in other directions are looked upon with some coldness. So
the country gentry, hearing of Miss Barholm and her novel fancies,--her
teaching in a night school with a young curate, her friendship for the
daughter of a dissipated collier, her intimate acquaintance with ragged
boys and fighting terriers, her interest in the unhappy mothers
of nameless babies,--hearing of these things, I say, the excellent
nonenthusiasts shook their heads as the very mildest possible expression
of dissent. They suspected strong-mindedness and "reform"--perhaps even
politics and a tendency to advance irregular notions concerning the
ballot. "At any rate," said they, "it does not look well, and it is very
much better for young persons to leave these matters alone and do as
others do who are guided wholly by their elders."

It was an agreeable surprise to Mr. Haviland to see sitting in her
modest phaeton, a quiet girl who looked up at him with a pair of the
largest and clearest eyes he had ever seen, while she told him about
Sammy Craddock.

"I want the place very much for him, you see," she ended. "But of course
I do not wish to be unfair to any one who may want it, and deserve
it more. If there is any one who really _is_ in greater need of it, I
suppose I must give it up."

"But I am glad to tell you, there is nobody," answered Mr. Haviland
quite eagerly. "I can assure you, Miss Barholm, that the half dozen men
who have applied to me are without a solitary exception, unmitigated
scamps--great strong burly fellows, who would, ten to one, spend their
days in the public house, and their nights in my preserves, and leave
their wives and children to attend to my gates. This Craddock is
evidently the ver