match
with Robert Wood.

Aunt Ella continued: "I can imagine what a pretty, sweet, little country
girl Huldy Mason is. My heart aches for Lindy, her martyrdom has been
out of all proportion to her contemplated wrongdoing, if wrongdoing it
really was. Had I been in her place I would have married Jones and left
my clothes behind; and then," said Aunt Ella, "how my heart goes out to
that dear, sweet girl that you call Alice! Do you love her, Quincy?"

"Devotedly," answered Quincy, "I never really loved a woman before."

"Then marry her," cried Aunt Ella decidedly.

"Everybody at home but Maude will object," said Quincy.

"Maude's the best one in the family, next to yourself," snapped Aunt
Ella.

"They will bring up Uncle Jim," continued Quincy.

"Nonsense!" replied Aunt Ella. "Uncle Jim was a fool; any man is a fool
who thinks he can win the battle of life by making a sot of himself.
Bring this girl to me, Quincy. She must be a genius, if she can write as
you say she can. Let me care for her and love her and make life pleasant
and beautiful for her until you get ready to do it yourself."

"I will, some day, Aunt Ella. You are the best friend I have in the
world, and when I have the right to bring Alice to you, I will lose no
time in doing so. Thank you for your kind words about her. I shall never
forget them, and she shall hear them some day. But I must go now."

They both arose, "Promise that you will come and see me every time you
are in Boston, Quincy; if you don't, I shall come down to Eastborough to
see you."

She gave him another kiss at parting.

As he left the house he deliberated for a moment as to where he should
go next. It was half-past four. He decided to go to Leopold's lodgings
in Chestnut Street. He found him at home, but for a wonder he was not
working.

"This is an off day with me," he explained; "this is our haying season,
and I've been working nights, days, and Sundays for a fortnight."

"I came to express Miss Pettengill's obligations and thanks for your
kind and very successful efforts in her behalf."

"Oh! that's all right," said Leopold. "By the way, have you told her she
ought to write a book?"

"Not yet," said Quincy; "but I'm going to soon. She has just lost a dear
friend; but I won't forget it."

"Don't!" repeated Leopold. "She is a diamond that ought to be dug up,
cut, and set in eighteen carat gold. Excuse my apparently brutal
language, but you get my meaning."

"Certainl