al water from a babbling spring.

After her story was finished--and she found great relief in the
telling--Billy said:--

"Of course I'll trust you. I'd trust you for the whole store if you
wanted to buy it. I'd trust you with my soul," he added after a pause.
"There's not a false drop of blood in your veins."

"Ah, Billy Little," she answered, as she took his hand caressingly for
an instant, and her eyes, with their wonderful capacity for expression,
said the rest.

"So, you see, I _do_ want to write a letter to Dic," she said, dropping
his hand; "but it is not to be a love-letter. I could not write one if I
wished. I was very wicked. Oh, Billy Little, I honestly think, at times,
I'm the worst girl that ever lived. Something terrible will happen to me
for my wickedness, I'm sure. Mother says it will."

"Yes, something terrible--terrible, I'm sure," returned Billy, musingly.

"And I want to apologize to him," she continued, "and tell him I didn't
mean it. Isn't it right that I should?"

"Oh, yes--yes," answered Billy, starting out of his revery. "Of course,
yes--Maxwelton's braes are bonny--um--um--um--um--um--yes, oh yes."

When vexed, pleased, or puzzled, Billy was apt to hum the opening line
of "Annie Laurie," though the first four words were all that received
the honor of distinct articulation. The remainder of the stanza he
allowed to die away under his breath. Rita was of course familiar with
the habit, but this time she could not tell which motive had prompted
the musical outburst. Billy himself couldn't have told, but perhaps the
bachelor heart was at the bottom of it.

"Thank you, Billy Little, for the paper," said Rita. "I'll pay you with
the first money I get." Billy silently helped her to mount her horse.
She smiled, "Good-by," and he walked slowly back to the store muttering
to himself: "Billy Little, Billy Little, your breastworks are weak, and
you are a--Maxwelton's braes--um--um--um--um.--Ah, good evening, Mrs.
Carson. Something I can do for you this evening? Sugar? Ah, yes, plenty.
Best in town. Best shipment I ever had," and Billy was once more a
merchant.

When Rita reached home supper was ready, and after the supper work was
finished it was too dark to write; so the letter was postponed a day,
and she took her place on the porch, hoping that Dic would come and that
the letter might be postponed indefinitely. But he did not come. Next
morning churning had again become loathsome, sweeping wa