osed, had really some pretensions
to a lady, while Helen's dress and collar ceased to be obnoxious, as he
watched the play of her fine features and saw her eyes kindle as she
took a modest part in the conversation when it turned on books and
literature.

Meanwhile Katy kept very still, her cheeks flushing and her eyes cast
down whenever she met Wilford's gaze; but when, after dinner was over
and Morris had gone, she went with him down to the shore of the pond,
her tongue was loosed, and Wilford found again the little fairy who had
so bewitched him a few weeks before. And yet there was a load upon his
mind--a shadow made by the actual knowledge that between Katy's family
and his there was a gulf which never could be crossed by either party.
He might bear Katy over, it was true, but would she not look longingly
back to the humble home, and might he not sometimes be greatly chagrined
by the sudden appearing of some one of this old-bred family who did not
seem to realize how ignorant they were, how far below him in the social
scale? Poor Wilford! he winced and shivered when he thought of Aunt
Betsy, in her antiquated pongee, and remembered that she was a near
relative of the little maiden sporting so playfully around him, stealing
his heart away in spite of family pride, and making him more deeply in
love than ever. It was very pleasant down by the pond, and Wilford, who
liked staying there better than at the house, kept Katy with him until
the sun was going down and they heard in the distance the tinkle of a
bell as the deacon's cows plodded slowly homeward. Supper was waiting
for them, and with his appetite sharpened by his walk, Wilford found no
cause of complaint against Aunt Hannah's viands, though he smiled
mentally as he accepted the piece of apple pie Aunt Betsy offered him,
saying by way of recommendation that "she made the crust but Catherine
peeled and sliced the apples."

The deacon had not returned from his work, and so Wilford did not see
him until he came suddenly upon him, seated in the woodshed door,
washing his feet after the labor of the day. Ephraim Barlow was a man to
command respect, and to a certain extent Wilford recognized the true
worth embodied in that unpolished exterior. He did not, however, see
much of him that night, for, as the deacon said, apologetically: "The
cows is to milk and the chores all to do, for I never keep no boy," and
when at last the chores were done the clock pointed to half-