nverted the ungainly hobbledehoy
into a thoroughly "likely young mon."

And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such
gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father,
marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious
hint, said gently:

"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!"

The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.

"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted.

Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old
dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a
wordless farewell.

* * * * *

The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through
the gray portals of the Manor.

In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the
wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil;
most of them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers
had for generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the
hands of the Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled,
a mighty host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony
beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door,
was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.

The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
beaming on every one.

"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day, James!
Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with me eh,
eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of
all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.

"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy, shaking
him by the hand, and asking him his story.

'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring
nor daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the
York cattle-show