uld occupy him so much.

There was a silver mist across the hills, when Gifford led his horse out
of the barn the next morning, and the little sharp paving-stones in the
stable-yard, with thin lines of grass between them, were shining with
dew. The morning-glories about the kitchen porch had flung their rosy
horns toward the east, as though to greet the sunrise. Sarah stood under
them, surveying the young man regretfully. "Your aunts won't half like
it, Mr. Gifford," she said, "that you wouldn't eat a proper breakfast."

But he put his foot in the stirrup, and flung himself into his saddle. He
was too much absorbed in his own concerns to reflect that Miss Deborah
would be distressed if her Scotch collops were slighted, and that was not
like Gifford. However, he was young and a man, so his grief did not
prevent him from lighting a cigarette. The reins fell on the horse's neck
as he climbed East Hill, and Gifford turned, with one hand on the bay's
broad flanks, to look down at Ashurst. The valley was still full of mist,
that flushed and trembled into gold before it disappeared at the touch of
the sun. There was a flutter of birds' wings in the bushes along the
road, and the light wind made the birch leaves flicker and dance; but
there was hardly another sound, for his horse walked deliberately in the
grass beside the road, until suddenly a dog barked. Gifford drew his rein
sharply. "That was Max!" he said, and looked about for him, even rising a
little in his stirrups, "How fond she is of the old fellow!" he thought.

In another moment the dog ran across the road, his red coat marked with
dew; then the bushes were pushed aside, and his mistress followed him.

"Why, Gifford!" she said.

"Why, Lois!" he exclaimed with her, and then they looked at each other.

The young man threw away his cigarette, and, springing from his horse,
slipped the reins over his arm, and walked beside her.

"Are you going away?" Lois asked. "But it is so early!"

She had her little basket in her hand, and she was holding her blue print
gown up over a white petticoat, to keep it from the wet grass. Her broad
hat was on the back of her head, and the wind had blown the curls around
her face into a sunny tangle, and made her cheeks as fresh as a wild
rose.

"You are the early one, it seems to me," he answered, smiling.

"I've come to get mushrooms for father," she explained. "It is best to
get them early, while the dew is on them. There are a