known to seek
nourishment at nine o'clock at night, when all respectable people are
sound asleep. In your trunk, you have vainly attempted to conceal a
large metal object, the use of which is unknown."

"Oh, my hapless chafing-dish!" groaned Ruth.

"Chafing-dish?" repeated Winfield, brightening visibly. "And I eating
sole leather and fried potatoes? From this hour I am your slave--you
can't lose me now!

"Go on," she commanded.

"I can't--the flow of my eloquence is stopped by rapturous anticipation.
Suffice it to say that the people of this enterprising city are well up
in the ways of the wicked world, for the storekeeper takes The New York
Weekly and the 'Widder' Pendleton subscribes for The Fireside Companion.
The back numbers, which are not worn out, are the circulating library of
the village. It's no use, Miss Thorne--you might stand on your hilltop
and proclaim your innocence until you were hoarse, and it would be
utterly without effect. Your status is definitely settled."

"How about Aunt Jane?" she inquired. "Does my relationship count for
naught?"

"Now you are rapidly approaching the centre of things," replied the
young man. "Miss Hathaway is one woman in a thousand, though somewhat
eccentric. She is the venerated pillar of the community and a constant
attendant it church, which it seems you are not. Also, if you are really
her niece, where is the family resemblance? Why has she never spoken
of you? Why have you never been here before? Why are her letters to you
sealed with red wax, bought especially for the purpose? Why does she go
away before you come? Lady Gwendolen Hetherington," he demanded, with
melodramatic fervour, "answer me these things if you can!"

"I'm tired," she complained.

"Delicate compliment," observed Winfield, apparently to himself. "Here's
a log across our path, Miss Thorne; let's sit down."

The budded maples arched over the narrow path, and a wild canary,
singing in the sun, hopped from bough to bough. A robin's cheery chirp
came from another tree, and the clear notes of a thrush, with a mottled
breast, were answered by another in the gold-green aisles beyond.

"Oh," he said, under his breath, "isn't this great!"

The exquisite peace of the forest was like that of another sphere.
"Yes," she answered, softly, "it is beautiful."

"You're evading the original subject," he suggested, a little later.

"I haven't had a chance to talk," she explained. "You've done a
monologue