ng after my arrival at the hall, and a young lady from the
neighborhood was paying a visit to Annie.

They were standing on the portico, and I was leaning against the trunk of
the old oak beneath, admiring the sunset which was magnificent that
evening. All at once I heard whispers, and turning round toward the young
ladies, saw them laughing. Annie's finger was extended toward the hole in
my elbow, and I could not fail to understand that she was laughing at my
miserable coat.

I was not offended, though perhaps I may have been slightly wounded; but
Annie was a young girl and I could not get angry; I was not at all
ashamed--why should I have been?

"I am sorry, but I cannot help the hole in my elbow," I said, calmly and
quietly, with a bow and a smile; "I tore it by accident, yesterday."

Annie blushed, and looked very proud and offended, and it pained me to see
that she suffered for her harmless and, careless speech. I begged her not
to think that my feelings were wounded, and bowing again, went up to my
room. I looked at my coat, it _was_ terribly shabby, and I revolved the
propriety of purchasing another, but I gave up the idea with a sigh. She
needs all my money, and my mind is made up; she _shall_ have the black
silk, and very soon.

I very nearly forgot to relate what followed the little scene on the
portico. During all that evening, and the whole of the next day, Annie
scarcely looked at me, and retained her angry and offended expression. I
was pained, but could add nothing more to my former assurance that I was
not offended.

Toward evening, I was sitting with a book upon the portico, when Annie
came out of the parlor. She paused on the threshold, evidently hesitated,
but seemed to resolve all at once, what to do. She came quickly to my
side, and holding out her hand said frankly and kindly, with a little
tremor in her voice, and a faint rose-tint in the delicate cheeks:

"I did not mean to hurt your feelings, Mr. Cleave, indeed I did not, sir;
my speech was the thoughtless rudeness of a child. I am sorry, very sorry
that I was ever so ill-bred and unkind; will you pardon me, sir?"

I rose from my seat, and bowed low above the white little hand which lay
in my own, slightly agitated,--

"I have nothing to pardon, Miss Annie," I said, "if you will let me call
you by your household name. I think it very fortunate that my coat was
shabby; had it been a new one, you would never have observed it, and I
shoul