with a
little grateful smile. "Even with Abbie's company, it is very dull
when Frank is away. Won't you come in?"

The judge shook his head, and turned to the gate again. "Not
to-night, my dear. Good-night, and good-bye, Frank."

"Have you no commissions, judge?" asked the minister. "I shall have
plenty of time at my disposal; my own business is very little."

"No, I think not," returned the judge. "But, let me see."

Miss Goldthwaite moved to the gate, and laid her hand caressingly on
Beauty's glossy neck.

"I only envy you one thing, Judge Keane," she said; "and this is it.
What a beauty she is!"

The judge laughed, and his eyes lingered on the slim, girlish figure
in its dainty muslin garb; and on the sweet, unclouded face, which
was a true index to the happy heart within.

"Beauty shall be yours by-and-by," he laughed; and a swift wave of
colour swept across her face, and she hid it in the animal's glossy
mane.--"Safe journey, Frank. Come to the Red House for your sister
when you want her.--Steady, Beauty." He sprang to the saddle, and
held out his hand to Carrie.

"I'm glad you've said yes, my dear," he whispered, with a mischievous
twinkle in his gray eyes, "or a certain young man would have thought
nothing of coming to take you by main force. Shall I tell him of that
sweet blush? Or--"

But Miss Goldthwaite had fled, and Beauty flew off like an arrow.

III.

THE ARRRIVAL.

On Friday morning, Miss Hepsy received a brief note from Mr.
Goldthwaite, stating that he had attended the funeral of Mrs. Hurst,
paid the little she had owed in Newhaven, and would be at Pendlepoint
by the noon cars that day, when he requested Miss Hepsy to be in
waiting at the depot to meet her nephew and niece.

Now, Friday was Miss Hepsy's cleaning day. Although ordinary eyes
would have been puzzled to point out what spot in that shining domain
required more than the touch of a duster, the house was upturned from
ceiling to basement, and received such sweeping and dusting and
polishing, such scouring and scrubbing, that it was a marvel Miss
Hepsy was not exhausted at the end of it. She had just turned out the
parlour chairs into the lobby, and was busy with broom and dust-pan,
sweeping up invisible dust, when Ebenezer brought her Mr.
Goldthwaite's letter. So much did it upset her, that he had to depart
without his glass of cider, for she took no more notice of him than
if he had been one of the pillars at the door. It