ught she and the thrushes and blackbirds had it to themselves,
but she was mistaken, for in turning into a shrubbery walk, skirting the
meadow, she was surprised to see Richard Sefton sitting on a low bench,
with Mac's head between his knees, evidently in a brown study. Bessie
was sorry to disturb him, but it was too late to draw back, for Mac had
already seen her, and had roused his master by his uneasy efforts to get
free, and Mr. Sefton rose, with the awkward abruptness that seemed
natural to him, and lifted his cap.

"Good morning, Miss Lambert. You are an early riser. My mother and Edna
are hardly awake yet."

"Oh, I am always up long before this," returned Bessie, smiling at his
evident astonishment, as she stooped to caress Mac, who was fawning on
her.

"Mac seems to know you," he observed, noticing the dog's friendly
greeting.

"It is very strange, but he seems to have taken a fancy to me," replied
Bessie, and she narrated to Mac's master how the hound had pleaded for
admission to her room, and had lain under her table watching her unpack.

"That is very odd," observed Richard. "Mac has never bestowed a similar
mark of attention on any one but a certain homely old lady that my
mother had here for a time, as a sort of charity; she had been a
governess, and was very poor. Well, Mac was devoted to the old lady, and
she certainly was an estimable sort of woman, but he will have nothing
to say to any of Edna's fine friends, and generally keeps out of the way
when they come."

"An animal's likes and dislikes are very singular," remarked Bessie,
looking thoughtfully into Mac's brown eyes. "I believe Mac knows that I
am a lover of dogs."

"Are you indeed, Miss Lambert? Would you like to see mine?" returned
Richard quickly; and his face lighted up as he spoke. He looked
younger and better than he did the previous night. His powerful,
muscular figure, more conspicuous for strength than grace, showed to
advantage in his tweed shooting-coat and knickerbockers, his
ordinary morning costume. The look of sullen discomfort had gone,
and his face looked less heavy. Bessie thought he hardly seemed his
age--nine-and-twenty--and, in spite of his natural awkwardness, he
had a boyish frankness of manner that pleased her.

Bessie was a shrewd little person in her way, and she already surmised
that Richard Sefton was not at ease in his stepmother's presence. She
found out afterward that this was the case; that in spite of his