"'Walk right in,' said the little beauty. 'I reckon you folks must be
pretty well beat out after your long ride in the hot sun. It's a goodish
bit from here to the Hill, ain't it?'

"'How do you know that we are from the Hill?' I asked in surprise.

"'Oh, I know,' she replied. 'I saw ye both at the station when ye first
come, and then again at meetin' on Sunday. And you air a bride?' she
added, turning to my wife.

"'Yes, and a very happy one,' said Elizabeth, placing her hand upon my
shoulder in loving fashion. The child, for she was hardly more than
that, gave an odd little sigh, but quickly brightened up again.

"'I'm downright glad ye came,' she said heartily. 'I do so like folks to
be neighborly and sociable. Ye ain't stuck up, nuther, like most city
folks; no airs, nor the like o' that. Pap'll be home soon, and he'll be
glad to see ye too!'

"Then she prepared a nice luncheon in the living-room. The lightest
bread, delicious butter, preserved peaches, and some slices of
marvellous old ham; this, with a stone pitcher of cool, foamy milk, made
life very pleasant to the weary travelers. The girl declined to join us,
but sat near at hand, gazing intently at my wife. No detail of
Elizabeth's attire seemed to escape her.

"'Oh,' said she, partly to herself, 'what beautiful, beautiful clothes!'
And I registered a vow that she should have just such an outfit as soon
as we went back to New York.

"'That child, properly dressed, would attract attention anywhere; she
does not look at all bourgeois,' said my wife; and this from Elizabeth,
whose grandmother was a Boston Higglesworth, was a concession indeed.

"'Do not tell her so,' said I; 'it would certainly spoil her. She _is_
uncommonly pretty, I'll admit; but unless something unforeseen happens
she will probably marry within her own sphere of life, toil unceasingly,
rear a brood of uncouth bumpkins--a hag at thirty, and thus fulfil her
destiny.'

"Elizabeth looked exceeding wise, but said nothing.

"Ailsee came to us at that moment, and I looked at her closely as she
stood in the sunlight, her bonnet dangling from her arm. She was
undeniably beautiful--a dainty little head, crowned with a wealth of
golden-brown hair, sweet hazel eyes, a lovely mouth, and the most
bewitching dimples. There was nothing of the milkmaid style about her,
for she lacked the vivid coloring and tendency to embonpoint of the
typical rustic beauty. I pictured her to myself entering th