bered point, "How lovely it is!" she exclaimed. And as
she gazed at the view up and down the valley, she would grow pensive.
"How natural the church looks," she continued. And then, having crossed
both bridges, "Oh, there's the dear old lodge gate!" Or again, while
they drove up the valley of the little Hoosic: "I had forgotten it was
so nice and lonely. But after all, no woods are so interesting as
those where you might possibly see a bear or an elk." And upon another
occasion, after a cry of enthusiasm at the view from the top of Mount
Anthony, "It's lovely, lovely, lovely," she said, with diminishing
cadence, ending in pensiveness once more. "Do you see that little bit
just there? No, not where the trees are--that bare spot that looks
brown and warm in the sun. With a little sagebrush, that spot would look
something like a place I know on Bear Creek. Only of course you don't
get the clear air here."

"I don't forget you," said Sam. "Do you remember me? Or is it out of
sight out of mind?"

And with this beginning he renewed his suit. She told him that she
forgot no one; that she should return always, lest they might forget
her.

"Return always!" he exclaimed. "You talk as if your anchor was
dragging."

Was it? At all events, Sam failed in his suit.

Over in the house at Dunbarton, the old lady held Molly's hand and
looked a long while at her. "You have changed very much," she said
finally.

"I am a year older," said the girl.

"Pshaw, my dear!" said the great-aunt. "Who is he?"

"Nobody!" cried Molly, with indignation.

"Then you shouldn't answer so loud," said the great-aunt.

The girl suddenly hid her face. "I don't believe I can love any one,"
she said, "except myself."

And then that old lady, who in her day had made her courtesy to
Lafayette, began to stroke her niece's buried head, because she more
than half understood. And understanding thus much, she asked no prying
questions, but thought of the days of her own youth, and only spoke a
little quiet love and confidence to Molly.

"I am an old, old woman," she said. "But I haven't forgotten about it.
They objected to him because he had no fortune. But he was brave and
handsome, and I loved him, my dear. Only I ought to have loved him more.
I gave him my promise to think about it. And he and his ship were lost."
The great-aunt's voice had become very soft and low, and she spoke with
many pauses. "So then I knew. If I had--if--perhaps I should have