aughty and silly, and that their present training
was largely to blame.

The Bennetts did not come by, neither did Mrs. Brown's carriage pass,
nor a brake from the hotel. Sophia had carried home the milk of two cows
and returned before anyone of the slightest consequence passed by. She
was just starting with two more pails when Alec Trenholme came along at
a fast trot on his brother's handsome cob. He was close by her before
she had time to see who it was, and when he drew up his horse she felt
strangely annoyed. Instinct told her that, while others might have
criticised, this simple-hearted fellow would only compassionate her
toil. Their mutual adventure of the previous evening had so far
established a sense of comradeship with him that she did not take refuge
in indifference, but felt her vanity hurt at his pity.

At that moment the simple iron semi-circle which the milk maid used to
hold her pails off her skirts, became, with Sophia's handling, the most
complex thing, and would in no wise adjust itself. Alec jumped from his
horse, hung his bridle-rein over the gate-post as he entered the
pasture, and made as if to take the pails as a matter of course.

Pride, vanity, conceit, whatever it may be that makes people dislike
kindness when their need is obvious, produced in her an awkward gaiety.
"Nay," said she, refusing; "why should you carry my milk for me?"

"Well, for one thing, we live too near not to know you don't do it
usually."

"Still, it may be my special pleasure to carry it to-night; and if not,
why should you help me with this any more than, for instance, in cooking
the dinner to-morrow? I assure you my present pastoral occupation is
much more romantic and picturesque than that."

But he took the half-filled pails (she had not attempted to carry full
ones), and, pouring the contents of one into the other, proceeded to
carry it.

"Since it is you who command," she cried, "shall I hold your horse in
the meantime?"

With provoking literalism he gave a critical glance at the bridle. "He's
all right," he said, not caring much, in truth, whether the cob broke
loose or not.

So she followed him across the road into the lane, because it hardly
seemed civil to let him go alone, and because he would not know what to
do with the milk when he got to the yard. She did not, however, like
this position.

"Do you know," she began again, "that I am very angry with you, Mr.
Trenholme?"

He wished for several re