k
of the Smithies led, and formed, the rear-guard. "This is coming now
to something very queer," thought Pet; "after all, it might have been
better for me to take my chance with the hatchet man."

Brown dusk was ripely settling down among the mossy apple-trees, and the
leafless alders of the brook, and the russet and yellow memories of late
autumn lingering in the glen, while the peaky little freaks of snow,
and the cold sighs of the wind, suggested fireside and comfort. Mr. Bert
threw open his cottage door, and bowing as to a welcome guest, invited
Pet to enter. No passage, no cold entrance hall, demanded scrapes of
ceremony; but here was the parlor, and the feeding-place, and the warm
dance of the fire-glow. Logs that meant to have a merry time, and spread
a cheerful noise abroad, ere ever they turned to embers, were snorting
forth the pointed flames, and spitting soft protests of sap. And before
them stood, with eyes more bright than any flash of fire-light, intent
upon rich simmering scents, a lovely form, a grace of dainties--oh, a
goddess certainly!

"Master Carnaby," said the host, "allow me, sir, the honor to present
my daughter to you, Insie darling, this is Mr. Lancelot Yordas Carnaby.
Make him a pretty courtesy."

Insie turned round with a rosy blush, brighter than the brightest
fire-wood, and tried to look at Pet as if she had never even dreamed
of such a being. Pet drew hard upon his heart, and stood bewildered,
tranced, and dazzled. He had never seen Insie in-doors before, which
makes a great difference in a girl; and the vision was too bright for
him.

For here, at her own hearth, she looked so gentle, sweet, and lovely. No
longer wild and shy, or gayly mischievous and watchful, but calm-eyed,
firm-lipped, gravely courteous; intent upon her father's face, and
banishing not into shadow so much as absolute nullity any one who
dreamed that he ever filled a pitcher for her, or fed her with grouse
and partridge, and committed the incredible atrocity of kissing her.

Lancelot ceased to believe it possible that he ever could have done such
a thing as that, while he saw how she never would see him at all, or
talk in the voice that he had been accustomed to, or even toss her head
in the style he had admired, when she tried to pretend to make light
of him. If she would only make light of him now, he would be well
contented, and say to himself that she did it on purpose, for fear
of the opposite extreme. But t