erries off. Mr. Murray, this is my niece, Mollie Booth."

"What?" said Murray explosively.

"Miss Mollie Booth," repeated Mrs. Palmer in a louder tone.

Murray regained outward self-control and bowed to the blushing Mollie.

"And what about Eve?" he thought helplessly. "Who--what was she? Did I
dream her? Was she a phantom of delight? No, no, phantoms don't milk
cows. She was flesh and blood. No chilly nymph exhaling from the mists
of the marsh could have given a kiss like that."

"Mollie has come to stay the rest of the summer with me," said Mrs.
Palmer. "I hope to goodness my tribulations with hired girls is over
at last. They have made a wreck of me."

Murray rapidly reflected. This development, he decided, released him
from his promise to tell no tales. "I met a young lady down in the
pond pasture this morning," he said deliberately. "I talked with her
for a few minutes. I supposed her to be your niece. Who was she?"

"Oh, that was Miss Mannering," said Mrs. Palmer.

"What?" said Murray again.

"Mannering--Dora Mannering," said Mrs. Palmer loudly, wondering if Mr.
Murray were losing his hearing. "She came here last night just to see
me. I haven't seen her since she was a child of twelve. I used to be
her nurse before I was married. I was that proud to think she thought
it worth her while to look me up. And, mind you, this morning, when
she found me crippled with headache and not able to do a hand's turn,
that girl, Mr. Murray, went and milked seven cows"--"only four,"
murmured Murray, but Mrs. Palmer did not hear him--"for me. Couldn't
prevent her. She said she had learned to milk for fun one summer when
she was in the country, and she did it. And then she got breakfast for
the men--Mollie didn't come till the ten o'clock train. Miss Mannering
is as capable as if she had been riz on a farm."

"Where is she now?" demanded Murray.

"Oh, she's gone."

"What?"

"Gone," shouted Mrs. Palmer, "gone. She left on the train Mollie come
on. Gracious me, has the man gone crazy? He hasn't seemed like himself
at all this afternoon."

Murray had bolted madly out of the house and was striding down the
lane.

Blind fool--unspeakable idiot that he had been! To take her for Mrs.
Palmer's niece--that peerless creature with the calm acceptance of any
situation, which marked the woman of the world, with the fine
appreciation and quickness of repartee that spoke of generations of
culture--to imagine that she could be Mo