entangled one hand from the reins to grasp mine. The horse started off
on a biasing canter, much to my amusement.

"You are not afraid, I hope," my companion said, a trifle anxiously.

"Not afraid, but amused; your horse goes so oddly; but I am not
accustomed to their ways." I added, fearing my remark might give offence.

"Faery and I are very good friends, and understand each other thoroughly;
but strangers usually get alarmed."

My knowledge of quadrupeds was so limited I thought it safest to remain
silent.

Presently we passed the Blakes, I longed to relieve Daniel of his heavy
basket; for even he seemed to stagger beneath its weight.

"I was speaking with that woman on the train. She comes to attend her
son's wife, who is sick."

"Oh, the Blakes, then. She won't have much to do, Dan's wife died to-day;
poor beggar, he looks heartbroken."

"Your wife may be dead some day; then you will know how dreadfully he
feels," I said, hotly. The flippant tone in face of such sorrow
distressed me. He gave me a merry look as he said: "There are always
plenty left to replace the lost ones. A wife is far easier got than a
horse; one like Faery, for instance."

I shut my mouth firmly and turned my head away to watch the white sails
idly mirrored, in the still waters, I knew he was furtively watching me,
and this alone held back my tears, as I thought of poor Blake's desolate
hearthstone, as well as my own heart's loneliness in this wide continent
of strangers.

"Mr. Winthrop regretted being away when you arrived, but he expected us
to be kind to you; so we must not quarrel first thing." My companion
said, with entire change of tone.

"I quarrel pretty easily," I stammered, "my temper is very abrupt."

"Most of us have quick tempers; but, I think, you, at least, have a
generous one."

Then I recollected abrupt was not a very suitable word to couple with
temper. Taken altogether, I found this drive home with Faery and her
master anything but enjoyable.

CHAPTER II.

OAKLANDS.

Faery's head was turned at last from the wide, dusty street into an
imposing gateway, which lead through an avenue bordered thickly with
evergreens mostly pine and hemlock. "These trees look a trifle hot in
summer; but they are a capital protection in a winter's storm, I assure
you," my companion said with an apologetic air.

I could think of no suitable reply; so merely said, "yes."

"It's a tradition among their acquaintances tha