hy, so do I, Stephen," said Mercy. "I am often racking my brains to
think what I shall say next. Half the people I meet are profoundly
uninteresting to me; and half of the other half paralyze me at first
sight, and I feel like such a hypocrite all the time; but, oh, what a
pleasure it is to talk with the other quarter!"

"Yes," sighed Stephen, "you look so happy and absorbed sometimes that it
makes me feel as if you had forgotten me altogether."

"Silly boy!" laughed Mercy. "Do you want me to prove to you by a long face
that I am remembering you?--Darling," she added, "at those very times when
you see me seem so absorbed and happy in company, I am most likely
thinking about the last time you looked into my face, or the next time you
will."

And for once Stephen was satisfied.

The picnic at which Mercy met Parson Dorrance had taken place on a
mountain some six miles south-west of Penfield. This mountain was the
western extremity of the range of which I have before spoken; and at its
base ran the river which made the meadow-lands of Penfield and Danby so
beautiful. Nowhere in America is there a lovelier picture than these
meadow-lands, seen from the top of this mountain which overhangs them. The
mountain is only about twenty-five hundred feet high: therefore, one loses
no smallest shade of color in the view; even the difference between the
green of broom-corn and clover records itself to the eye looking down from
the mountain-top. As far as one can see to northward the valley stretches
in bands and belts and spaces of varied tints of green. The river winds
through it in doubling curves, and looks from the height like a line of
silver laid in loops on an enamelled surface. To the east and the west
rise the river terraces, higher and higher, becoming, at last, lofty and
abrupt hills at the horizon.

When Parson Dorrance was introduced to Mercy, she was alone on a spur of
rock which jutted out from the mountain-side and overhung the valley. She
had wandered away from the gay and laughing company, and was sitting
alone, absorbed and almost saddened by the unutterable beauty of the
landscape below. Stephen had missed her, but had not yet dared to go in
search of her. He imposed on himself a very rigid law in public, and never
permitted himself to do or say or even look any thing which could suggest
to others the intimacy of their relations. Mercy sometimes felt this so
keenly that she reproached him. "I can't see why you