y'll know more about hereafter; and the third's through my land."

Keith laughed and waited.

"He seems to be hangin' around Phrony pretty considerable?"

Keith caught the gleam in the old fellow's deep eye, and looked away.

"I can't make it out. Phrony she likes him."

Keith fastened his gaze on something out of the window.

"I don't know him," pursued the squire; "But I don't think--he'd suit
Phrony. His ways ain't like ours, and--." He lapsed into reflection, and
Keith, with his eyes still fastened on something outside the window,
sighed to think of the old man's innocence. That he should imagine that
Wickersham had any serious idea of marrying the granddaughter of a
backwoods magistrate! The old squire broke the silence.

"You don't suppose he could be hankerin' after Phrony for her property,
do you?"

"No, I do not," said Keith, positively, relieved that at last a question
was put which he could answer directly.

"Because she ain't got any," asserted the squire. "She's got prospects;
but I'm goin' to remove them. It don't do for a young woman to have too
much prospects. I'm goin' to sell that land and git it down in cash,
where I can do what I want with it. And I want you to take charge of
it for me."

This, then, was the real object of his visit. He wanted Keith to take
charge of his properties. It was a tempting offer to make Keith. The old
man had been a shrewd negotiator.

There is no success so sweet as that which comes to a young man.

That night Keith spent out under the stars. Success had come. And its
other name was Alice Yorke.

The way before Keith still stretched steep enough, but the light was on
it, the sunshine caught peak after peak high up among the clouds
themselves, and crowning the highest point, bathed in perpetual
sunlight, was the image of Alice Yorke.

Alice Yorke had been abroad now for some time; but he had followed her.
Often when his work was done he had locked his door and shut himself in
from the turmoil of the bustling, noisy throng outside to dream of
her--to read and study that he might become worthy of her.

He had just seen by the papers that Alice Yorke had returned.

She had escaped the dangers of a foreign service; but, by the account,
she was the belle of the season at the watering-place which she was
honoring with her presence. As he read the account, a little jealousy
crept into the satisfaction which he had felt as he began. Mr. Lancaster
was spoken of t