ances I had
easily assured myself that there was nothing of the ploughman in the
appearance of Mrs. Hollingford's son. You will want to know what I
thought of him that morning, and I will tell you. He seemed to me the
beau ideal of a country gentleman: nothing less than this, and something
more. You have known him, my dears, stooped and white-haired, and have
loved him in his age for the sake of the heart that never grew old. But
on that brilliant autumn morning when he and I first sat side by side,
the same lovable spirit was clothed with the strength and beauty of
mortal youth.

The vivid life of the country was sweet to me that early morning. Carts
of hay lumbered past us, almost crushing us into the hedges as they
swept along heavily, leaving a trail of fragrance in the air. Red and
brown leaves lay thick on the ground, making beautiful the undulations
of the roads. Mists of dew hung among the purple folds of the hills, and
the sun dashed the woods and streams with kindling gold. By and by the
whole country side was laughing in the full face of the day.

Hillsbro' Farmhouse was, and is, a low long dwelling built of dark
bricks, and standing among orchards and meadows, green pasture lands and
running streams. Its ivied chimneys had for background the sombre lines
of a swelling moor, belted by a wood of pines which skirted the hollow
wherein the earth nourished the fatness and sweetness of the thrifty
farm acres. Along the edge of the moor the road ran that led to
Hillsbro' Hall, and a short cut through the wood brought one down upon a
back entrance to the squire's own grounds.

The dear old farm! Roses were blowing in that morning at the open sashes
of the big, heavy, roughly hung windows. Two young girls, who were
afterwards dear to me as fibres of my heart, lingered beside the open
door; stately handsome Jane, with her solemn observant black eyes and
trim dark dress, and frolicsome Mopsie, with her laughing face, and her
hat tied down, gipsy fashion, with a red ribbon. They lingered to see
me, to take their share in giving me a welcome, and then set out on
their long walk, discussing me by the way. They told me of it
afterwards. Jane said I was only fit for a glass case, and Mopsie
declared I alighted from the old gig as if I had a mind to dance. They
were awed by the high heels on my boots, the feather in my hat, and the
quilted satin of my pelisse. They wondered I could deign to speak
anything but French, and