The quiet which falls upon a country village after its noonday meal, brooded over Montfield. Only the great butterflies and the bees were stirring, except for a humming-bird that now and then darted among the flowers. Patty and Flossy were together upon the piazza, lazily discussing matters relating to the theatrical entertainment, when a buggy stopped at the gate, from which descended the huge form of Burleigh Blood.

"Now, Burleigh," Patty cried, as he approached, and before he had time to say more than good-day, "I know you've come to take Flossy to drive, but I want to go myself. It is too lovely for any thing this afternoon, and I am an invalid and must be humored, you know."

"If I could ever see that mushrooms had any taste," Flossy said deliberately, but with no discoverable connection, "I am sure I should be fond of them: so I always eat them, and think what a good time I am having if I only knew it."

"Flossy, you get to be more and more incomprehensible every day. Sit down, Burleigh, please. Of course you'll have to take me to ride."

"That is what I came for," he answered.

He did not, however, tell the truth. He had come intending to ask Flossy; but somehow his invitations always seemed to get crossed at the Sanfords', and he fated to be the sport of adverse fortune. He had reasoned out in his honest head a profound scheme of diplomacy. He would pique Patty by his attentions to her cousin, and thus force her to treat him with more consideration. He was about as well fitted for diplomatic juggleries as a babe in its cradle, and certainly this beginning was sufficiently unpropitious.

"Flossy, get my hat, that's a dear. Now, Burleigh, you'll have to let me lean on you. I'm lame still."

The afternoon was enchanting. It was one of those September days which in some strange way get transposed into August; when the air is full of hazes that soften the distant landscape with tints of purple and smoky blue and topaz; when the breeze is soft and enervating with a pleasing melancholy, like a revery, the sweeter for its sadness. The golden-rod and purple asters seem suddenly to have bloomed by the roadside, and the trees rustle softly with a dry murmur as if already falling into "the sear and yellow leaf." The crickets chirped cheerily in the lichen-covered stone walls and in the fields, while not a bird was to be seen or heard, unless now and then some chatty sparrow gossiping volubly with her neighbor, or an ill-omened crow that flew heavily over a distant field.

Burleigh and Patty chose a road leading out of the village, and lonely as country roads are apt to be. Patty was somewhat absent, sadly recalling the conversation of the previous night; but Burleigh looked so troubled at her pre-occupation that she resolved to throw off her heaviness, and began to chat cheerily.

"It is a lovely afternoon to ride," she said. "It is one of those days when one wants to go somewhere, yet doesn't know quite where."

"I knew where I wanted to go," he answered, "and went."

"Perhaps it is different with men," she continued, ignoring the allusion. "You men can always go and come as you please, and haven't the restrictions to incite you that we girls have."

"Haven't we? I did not know we were so free. We usually end, I think, by doing as you like."

"That is an epigram, Burleigh. Since when did you become so wise?"

"Since you began to knock me about as you chose," he answered boldly. "You do as you like with me. I went to invite you to the picnic, and you had me take your cousin. This afternoon I went after her, and have you."

"Did you really!" Patty exclaimed. "Honestly, I did not think of such a thing. It was all my vanity. Let's turn round. I didn't mean to cheat Flossy out of a ride."

"We'll keep on now, I guess," he answered. "I can take her another time."

"There is no time like the present," Patty said absently; wondering secretly what was the true nature of Burleigh's feeling toward her cousin.

"Isn't there?" he said, facing her suddenly. "Then I have a question to ask you. I"—

"About Flossy?" she interrupted hastily, warned by the look in his eyes.

"No; about yourself. I"—

"But I want to tell you about Flossy first. You know she"—

"I don't want to talk of Flossy," Burleigh said.

Alas! that he would not be warned or hindered. His excitement swept away every trace of his diffidence, and he had never looked so manly as now. His somewhat florid face was pale, and his great eyes looked straight upon her as if his very soul were in them.

"I love you," he said concisely enough. "I want you to marry me."

"O Burleigh! Oh, don't! Oh, please!" Patty cried, drawing away the hand which he had seized to the neglect of the reins. "I didn't think you could say such things, when we've always been such good friends."

"Is that any reason we should not be better friends?" he demanded.

"But not that way; not"—

Fate came to her assistance, and spared her the necessity of completing the sentence. The horse had been following his own impulses in lack of any direction from his driver; and bringing the wheel too near the edge of the ditch, the carriage lightly careened, depositing its inmates unhurt but badly shaken in the midst of a sand-heap.

The horse was fortunately well trained; and Burleigh had no difficulty in stopping him, which he did with a very angry face. As for Patty, she sat up in the sand, and burst into perfect shouts of laughter. She laughed and laughed, and held her sides and laughed again until the tears streamed from her eyes.

"O Burleigh!" she cried between her bursts of merriment. "Oh, I can't help it! Oh, it's too funny! I shall die, I believe!"

And off she went into fresh peals of laughter, until her companion felt a strong desire to shake her.

"To think you should tip me over, on top of making love to me! O Burleigh! it is too awfully droll for any thing! It is the funniest thing I ever heard of. Oh, dear!"

"I don't see where the fun comes in," he returned, rather crossly. "You always laugh at me."

"Oh, I don't either, but now I can't help it! Don't look so solemn, or you'll kill me!"

Her escort was hurt and angry. He felt that she flouted him and his love, and in this he did her injustice. Chagrin at his rejection, and mortification at the accident, combined to render him morbidly sensitive. Besides, he could not know that this lovely girl before him with flushed cheeks and tumbled hair was laughing as much from nervousness as from fun, and that the words of Tom Putnam on the previous night were as much a motive power in this extravagant cachinnation as his own proposal.

"I will help you into the buggy," he said stiffly.

"Don't be cross," she said, rising with the aid of the hand he extended. "I am sorry I vexed you. I was horrid to laugh so. We are good friends again, and for always, are we not?"

But in that moment of mortification had unconsciously dawned in the mind of Burleigh Blood the knowledge, that, however great might be his friendship for Patty, he did not love her. It is true that it was some time before he appreciated the discovery; but he was inclined to be very silent on the homeward way, although his companion used her utmost endeavors to restore him to good humor.