The king’s commissioner of imposts, Theodore Newville, had authority to collect for the crown three shillings per ton on all vessels of not more than two hundred tons burden, and four shillings per ton on vessels of larger dimensions. He also had authority to reserve the tallest, straightest, and largest pine-trees growing in the forests for the use of the royal navy. When the king’s arrow was blazed upon a tree,[24] no man, not even the owner of the soil, could fell it to the ground. Every year, and at times as often as every six months, a ship arrived upon the New England coast for masts and spars.

Mr. Newville was provided with an office in the Custom House, but his home was on the sunny slope of Beacon Hill, a commodious mansion, with spacious rooms and ample hall. The fluted pilasters with Corinthians capitals, the modillions along the cornice, the semicircular balcony, were fitting adornments. The surrounding lawn was smoothly shaven. In the orchard were apples, pears, and melocotoons;[25] in the garden, roses, pinks, primroses, daffodils, bachelor’s-buttons, and asters of every hue. The morning sun streaming into the dining-room illumined the richly cut decanters upon the shelves of the buffet. Very attractive, suggestive of ease, comfort, and culture, was the library, with its books and several portraits in gilded frames. The sun of the afternoon filled the richly furnished parlor with its mellow light. The front door opened to a wide hall and stairway, with carved baluster and polished mahogany rail. A clock stood upon the landing soberly counting the hours. Having inherited wealth, with a yearly stipend and many perquisites of office, Mr. Newville was abundantly able to live in a style befitting an officer of the crown. The knocker on the front door was so bright that Pompey could see his own white teeth and rolling eyeballs reflected from the shining brass. When through with the knocker he rubbed the fender, andirons, shovels, tongs, nozzle of the bellows, the hooks by the jams, candlesticks, snuffer, extinguisher, trays, and tinder-box, and wiped the dust from the glazed tiles of the hearth. It was the routine of every morning. Equally bright were the brass pots and pans in Phillis’s realm. Pompey and Phillis were bondservants under the mild existing paternal form of slavery.

The king’s commissioner of imposts perhaps would not have admitted he was passing the prime of life, but the crow’s-feet were gathering in the corners of his eyes. His gray tie wig was in keeping with the white hairs upon his brow. He had a mild, blue eye, amiable countenance, and dignified deportment, as became an officer of the crown.

Time was in like manner beginning to turn its furrows upon the brow of the lady who sat opposite him at the table, but she was still very fair, as many a visitor had noticed while partaking of her hospitality.

When breakfast was finished Mr. Newville took his gold-headed cane from its place in the hall, adjusted his wig at the mirror under the sconce, put on his gold-laced hat and walked leisurely, as became his majesty’s commissioner of imposts, along Tremont Street to Queen, thence past the jail, the Town House, the pillory and the stocks, to his office in the Custom House.

Mrs. Newville modeled her housekeeping on the last chapter of the Book of Proverbs. She began each morning with instructions to Phillis and Pompey. After breakfast, she walked to the market followed by Pompey at a respectful distance, with a basket to bring home the marketing. She was fastidious in her selection of meats; it must be a loin of beef, very tender, a chicken or duck, plump and fat; the freshest of eggs, and choicest butter. She found great pleasure in dispensing gracious hospitality, inviting the governor and lieutenant-governor of the Province, the justices, councilors, officers of the army and navy, strangers of distinction from other Provinces or from the other side of the sea; reverend doctors of divinity, lawyers, physicians, citizens of standing. She gave garden parties on summer afternoons, the guests sipping tea amid the flowers.

To such an entertainment Berinthia Brandon desired Robert’s company. The barber on the corner of the street trimmed and powdered his hair, Mark Antony smoothed the wrinkles from his coat, and Berinthia fixed new ribbons in his knee-buckles.

“I am afraid I shall be so stiff and awkward you will be ashamed of me,” he said, as she adjusted his ruffles.

“Oh no, I am sure your common sense will come to your aid.”

“I shall not know anybody, and shall feel like a cat in a strange garret.”

“But I will introduce you to some charming people.”

“I shall make a fool of myself. I have never been in such society, and shall not know what to talk about. If it was like a quilting, such as we have at Rumford, I might get on, but I know I shall be the laughing-stock of the ladies.”

“I am not afraid of it. Just be yourself, that’s all.”

The clock on the Old Brick Meetinghouse was striking three when they passed it on their way to the Newville mansion.

“You will find Mr. Newville a courtly, well-informed gentleman,” said Berinthia. “Perhaps I ought to tell you that he is a Tory, which is quite natural, when we consider that he holds an office under the crown. He is very discreet, however, and is careful not to say or do anything offensive to the Sons of Liberty. Of course, political questions are not mentioned at these enjoyable gatherings. We say nothing about the Stamp Act: give all like topics the go-by, and just enjoy ourselves socially. You will find Mrs. Newville a delightful lady, and I know you will be charmed by Miss Ruth, a lovely girl, with gracious ways and a character all her own. I cannot describe her. Only intimate friends can know her goodness. Few young ladies in Boston are more accomplished. Master Lovell[26] is her tutor, visiting her after school hours, to direct her course of study. She has been through the arithmetic, while most of us never have been beyond proportion. Having finished the accidence she has begun Latin; she can tambour, make embroidery, draw, paint, play the harpsichord, and sing so charmingly that people passing along the street stop to listen to the enchanting music.”

“You awaken my curiosity. But what will one who knows so much think of the awkward fellow keeping you company? Will she not regard me as a simpleton?”

“No, indeed; that would not be like Ruth Newville. Be assured, she will do what she can to make it a pleasant occasion to you.”

“What can I say that will interest her, what talk about?”

“She will enable you to find your tongue. The chances are that you will fall in love with her just as everybody else does,—colonels, majors, captains, lieutenants of the army and navy, besides widowers and bachelors; but Ruth is too sensible a girl to throw herself away. Her mother would like her to marry some nobleman, or lord of ancient family. Ruth does not care much for coats-of-arms or titles, but would rather be sure of what a man is, rather than who were his ancestors. But we are almost there.”

Many guests had already arrived. Ladies and gentlemen were strolling beneath the trees in the orchard, and along the garden paths. Pompey showing his white teeth, his dusky countenance beaming with pleasure, bowed very courteously as they entered the mansion.

“Massa and Missus Newville will welcome de ladies and genmens in de garding,” he said.

Berinthia led the way and introduced Robert as her relative from New Hampshire.

“And so you are from that dependency of the crown? What news do you bring from that Province?” Mr. Newville asked.

“I do not know that there is anything particularly new or interesting. Not much is going on there. We have had a good crop of hay, the corn looks middling well; the rye is not much rusted. I think we shall not want for bread,” Robert replied.

“It is excellent news. Bread is the staff of life, and I trust the people will be grateful for the bounties of Providence, and rest in peace and quiet under the rule of our gracious sovereign, King George.”

“I hope we shall be truly thankful for all that is good,” Robert replied.

“It is very kind in you to accompany our friend Miss Brandon to our entertainment this afternoon; we gladly welcome you, Mr. Walden,” said Mrs. Newville, who ran her eyes over him, and, so far as Robert could judge, rather liking his stalwart form and figure, while saying to herself that he was no hawk or eagle to bear off her chicken.

“Ruth, daughter, this way, please,” said Mrs. Newville.

Robert saw a young lady wearing a white muslin dress turn towards them from a group of ladies and gentlemen; but it was not the snowy whiteness of the garment, neither her dark brown unpowdered hair in contrast to that of the ladies around her, that attracted his attention, but the hazel eyes and the lips that had said, “I never shall forget your kindness, sir.”

“Mr. Walden, allow me to introduce my daughter,” said Mrs. Newville.

There was a startled, wondering look in the hazel eyes. She courtesied, with the fresh blood suffusing her cheeks.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walden,” she said.

“I took the liberty of bringing him,” said Berinthia. “I was sure you would extend to him the same cordial welcome you give to everybody.”

“Certainly, anybody whom you may invite will always be welcome. Mr. Walden, shall I serve you with a cup of tea? What kind will you take—shall it be Old Hyson, Bohea, or Twankey?”

She stood with a salver ready to serve him.

“I will take Old Hyson, if you please,” he said.

The pink slippers tripped across the lawn to a table where Phillis in white apron and cap, with smiling countenance, was pouring tea from silver urns into dainty cups. So this was the young lady whom he had rescued from the clutches of the villains. What should he say to her? By no word or look must she know that he was conscious of having befriended her.

The sun was shining through the branches of the melocotoon tree beneath which she was standing. It seemed to him that the rich bloom of the ripening fruit by some subtle process of nature was being transmuted to her face. He recalled the description of the pure-hearted damsel that welcomed the Pilgrim of Bunyan’s allegory to the beautiful palace in the land of Beulah. She soon returned bringing with steady hand the salver with the tea, sugar-bowl, and pitcher of cream.

“Shall I serve you with the sugar and cream, Mr. Walden?”

He could but notice the graceful movement of her deft fingers as she picked the sugar from the bowl with the silver tongs, and poured the cream.

“I will bring you some confections,” she said, and tripped away once more, returning with a plate of cake and bonbons.

“I hope you find the tea to your taste?” she said.

“It could not be better,” he replied.

He could see she was scanning his face with an inquiring look, as if endeavoring to solve a perplexing question—whether the stranger in working clothes who rescued her from the arms of the assaulting soldiers and this gentleman in fitting costume for genteel society were one and the same. “Can it be he?” was the question revolving in her thoughts. The countryman was tall, stout, and broad-shouldered; so was Mr. Walden. She saw resolution and indignation in the face of the stranger. Could not the face before her exhibit like qualities under like provocation? She must find out during the afternoon, if possible, whether or not Mr. Walden was her benefactor. If so, what should she say to him—how make known her gratitude?

“And so you are from New Hampshire, Mr. Walden?” she said inquiringly.

“Yes, and this is my first visit to Boston.”

“I dare say you find things somewhat different here from what they are there.”

“Oh yes. In Rumford the houses are scattered; but here they are as thick as spatter. There isn’t near so many things going on there as here.”

“I think it must be delightful to live in the country, among the green fields and pastures, and have chickens and goslins, and see the lambs play.”

“Yes; but we have to look sharp, to see that the foxes, and hawks, and weasels don’t get ’em.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Berinthia, who introduced him to Miss Lucy Flucker[27], daughter of the secretary of the Province, Miss Dorothy Quincy, Miss Mary Shrimpton, and to Isaac and John Coffin[28], sons of his majesty’s receiver-general.

“Do you have garden tea-parties in Rumford?” Miss Flucker asked.

“No, not garden parties, but the ladies get together in a parlor, sip their tea, take pinches of snuff from each other’s boxes, talk about the number of cheeses they have made, how much salt they put into the curd, how much yarn they have spun, how many yards of linen they have woven.”

“Such a party must be very enjoyable,” said Miss Quincy.

“Yes, I think they like to find out what everybody else is doing, and how they do it. Their tongues wag lively when they get to talking about what has happened and what they expect will happen; who was cried the Sunday before, and who probably will be the next Sunday.”

The ladies smiled at Robert’s vivacious conversation.

“Does the town clerk cry the proposed marriages?” Miss Shrimpton asked.

“Yes. The moment the minister finishes the benediction Sunday afternoon, Squire Fellows breaks in, shouting that marriage is intended between Hezekiah and Mehitable. Of course there are blushes on Mehitable’s face, while Hezekiah looks kinder sheepish.”

Again the ladies laughed.

“Do all the ladies take snuff?”

Miss Flucker asked the question.

“Nearly all the old ladies carry their snuff-boxes in their pockets or work-bags. There’s one lady, however, who does not—Aunt Hipsy Jenkins. Perhaps I ought to say she is well along in years, and that the town clerk never has cried her. She carries her nose as she pleases. She says if the Lord had intended it for a dust-hole, he would have put it on the other end up.”

A merry peal of laughter rang through the garden—so joyful that several ladies and gentlemen joined the group, to hear what the young man from the country was saying.

“Her name,” said Robert, by way of explanation, “is Hepsibah, but everybody calls her Hipsy.”

“Evidently,” said Isaac Coffin, “she is a lady who is up to snuff.”

Again the company laughed.

“You may be sure she never minces things, but speaks her mind, whether anybody likes it or not,” Robert replied.

“Are the gentlemen invited to the tea-parties?” John Coffin asked.

“Not to the afternoon parties, neither are the young ladies; the old ladies like to be by themselves while sipping their tea. Perhaps they think it would not be dignified on the part of the gentlemen to devote the afternoons to gossip,” Robert replied.

“Do not the young ladies meet?” Miss Shrimpton asked.

“Not as do our mothers, but they have their own good times,—their quilting parties. In the country every girl as soon as she can sew begins to make patchwork. When they get enough for a quilt, they invite their acquaintances to the quilting, and spend the afternoon in talking about—well, I can’t exactly say what they do talk about. Perhaps you ladies can tell better than I.”

The ladies smiled at his pleasant way of indicating what was uppermost in the thoughts of young maidens on such delightful occasions.

“Do not the gentlemen participate in some way?” Miss Quincy inquired.

“Oh yes; we join them in the evening, after they are through with the quilting, and try to make things lively. We play blindman’s-buff, hide the handkerchief, roast beef behind your back, come Philander, stage-coach, and other games, and have a jolly time. The ladies serve us with bread and butter, doughnuts, cookies, tarts, gingerbread, and tea. We guess riddles and tell ghost stories.”

“How delightful!” Miss Newville exclaimed.

“A little later than this we have huskings in the barns, seated around a heap of corn. Husking over, we eat pudding, baked beans, mince, apple, and pumpkin pie, and top off with pop-corn, apples, and cider. After supper the girls clear away the dishes; then we push the table into one corner of the kitchen, Julius CÆsar mounts it with his fiddle, and we dance jigs and quicksteps. The girl who first found a red ear while husking, and was kissed before she could throw it into the basket, is privileged to lead the dance.”

“How I should enjoy it,” said Miss Shrimpton.

“Finding the red ear?” queried Isaac Coffin.

“Oh no,—you know I didn’t mean that; but having such a jolly time with nobody saying it isn’t proper,” Miss Shrimpton replied with a blush mantling her cheek.

“Ruth, daughter,”—it was Mrs. Newville calling her to meet other guests, and Miss Newville turned regretfully away, for it was a pleasure to talk with Mr. Walden, and she hoped he would drop a word which would enable her to make sure it was he who had befriended her.

Robert, with Berinthia and the ladies whose acquaintance he had made, sauntered along the garden walks. The midsummer flowers were gone, but those of autumn were in bloom,—marigolds, asters, and sunflowers. Picturesque the scene: ladies in paduasoys, taffetas, and brocades, gentlemen in purple, russet, and crimson coats, white satin waistcoats, buff breeches, and silk stockings. Officers of the king’s regiments in scarlet with silver-starred epaulets, clergymen in suits of black, lawyers and doctors in white wigs, loitering along the paths, gathered in groups beneath the trees, young ladies serving them with syllabubs. From the vine-clad arbor the music of the orchestra floated upon the air.

Robert saw a gentleman and lady shaking hands with Mr. and Mrs. Newville.

“That is John Adams, one of the smartest lawyers in town,” said Berinthia. “That is his wife Abigail; she is the daughter of Reverend Mr. Smith, the minister of Braintree. She knows Latin and Greek, and is one of the nicest women in town. She writes beautiful letters, and knows—oh, so much! I’ll introduce you to them. I know you will be charmed with her.”

Mr. Adams courteously greeted Robert, and very gracious was the recognition by Mrs. Adams. She asked him if he had ever been in Boston before; who was the minister in Rumford; if he had many books to read. So pleasant and agreeable was her conversation, she seemed to Robert to be an old friend.

Robert was pleased to meet Doctor Warren, and received a cordial greeting.

“And are you acquainted?” Miss Newville inquired wonderingly.

“I am happy to claim Mr. Walden as my friend. I have long known his father,” the doctor replied.

Robert was pleased, also, to meet Mr. Knox, the bookseller, who was polite and affable to all, particularly to Miss Flucker.

When Berinthia and Robert were by themselves she informed him that Mr. Knox was attentive to Miss Flucker; that her parents opposed the match, Mr. Knox being a Whig and her father a Tory. Berinthia was sure that the more her father opposed the bookseller, the better Miss Lucy liked him.

Mr. John Hancock, though living but a short distance from Mr. Newville, came in his coach with driver and footmen in blue livery. He bowed politely to Mr. and Mrs. Newville, took a pinch of snuff from Mr. Newville’s gold box, and graciously greeted Miss Dorothy Quincy. Berinthia whispered to Robert that they were engaged to be married.[29]

“If Miss Newville and Miss Brandon will excuse us, Mr. Walden and myself will take a turn through the grounds,” said Doctor Warren, locking arms with Robert.

“I am glad to meet you once more, Mr. Walden. I want to thank you for the good work you did yesterday afternoon. I have heard of it several times; the people are chuckling over it. But the soldiers of the Twenty-Ninth Regiment are as mad as hornets and threaten retaliation. They are anxious to get hold of that fellow from the country who did it. I thought I would put you on your guard. I wish I knew who the young lady was, but no one can find out. Neither she nor her friends have made complaint to the selectmen, and of course you could not know.”

Robert thanked him. He said he did not anticipate any trouble; if attacked he would try and give a good account of himself.

They had strolled to the farthest part of the grounds. Returning, they saw Miss Newville surrounded by ladies and gentlemen; young and old alike were finding pleasure in her society. Major Evelyn, to whom Robert had been introduced, was telling how jolly it was in old England to follow the hounds in a fox hunt, leaping ditches, walls, and hedges, running Reynard to cover. Although courteously listening, her eyes glanced towards Robert and Doctor Warren.

“Pardon me, Major, but I must have a word with my good doctor who gives me pills and powders when I am sick,” she said graciously, tripping across the lawn.

“I have not served you with tea, doctor; what kind would you prefer?” she said.

“Well, let it be Old Hyson, if you please.”

“And yours, Mr. Walden: it was the Old you had before. Will you not try a cup of Young Hyson for variety?”

“If you please, Miss Newville.”

A few moments and she was with them again.

“Old Hyson for old friendship, Young, for new acquaintance,” said the doctor, as he took the cup from her hand. “You see, Mr. Walden, Miss Newville and I are old friends, and our relations at times are quite intimate. I am privileged to hold her hand, feel her pulse, and look at her tongue.”

“Do you not think, Mr. Walden, that the doctor is very rude to take a young lady’s hand when she cannot help herself?”

“Of course it is rude, but I apprehend you do not object, under the circumstances,” Robert replied.

“Oh no, she likes it so well that she often asks when I will come again,” said the doctor.

Merry was the laughter.

“This is delicious tea,” he said, sipping the beverage.

“I am glad you like it.”

“It is all the more delicious, Miss Ruth, because I have it from your own gracious hand, and because it is probably the last I shall drink for many months.”

She gazed at him wonderingly.

“You know I am firm in my convictions as to what is right and just, and I have decided to quit drinking tea as a protest against what the king and Lord North are preparing to do. So this will be a memorial day for me. Pardon me, I did not mean to allude to it.”

“One need not beg pardon for having a conviction of what is right and just. If it is to be your last cup I’m glad I have the privilege of serving it,” she said.

One by one guests joined them, charmed by her presence, Major Evelyn hovering around her. More than once the eyes of Robert and Miss Newville met. Would she not think him rude? But how could he help looking at her?

While Miss Newville was serving other guests, with Berinthia and Miss Shrimpton Robert walked the garden once more, the great shaggy watch-dog trotting in advance, as if they were guests to be honored by an escort.

The afternoon was waning. Guests were leaving, and it was time for Berinthia and Robert to take their departure.

“Oh, you are not going now. I have not had an opportunity to speak a dozen words with you, Berinthia, and I have shamefully neglected Mr. Walden. I have not had a chance to drink a cup of tea with him. I am sure you will excuse me, Major Evelyn, while I redeem myself. You will find Miss Brandon delightful company,” said Miss Newville.

Major Evelyn, being thus politely waved one side, could but acquiesce.

“Shall we sit, Mr. Walden?” she asked, leading the way to seats and bringing tea and cake.

“I enjoyed your description of life in the country, and the young ladies were delighted,” she said.

“We have pretty good times with the quiltings, huskings, and sleighing parties, when we pile into a double pung, ride in the moonlight, have supper, and a dance.”

“How delightful! Have you brothers and sisters?”

“Only a sister, Rachel, two years younger than I.”

“Does she love flowers?”

“Yes, she is very fond of them. I make up beds in the garden for her and she sows bachelor’s-buttons, flytraps, pansies, marigolds, hollyhocks, and has morning-glories running over strings around the sitting-room window.”

“They must make your home very pleasant in summer.”

“Yes, and she has asters and sweet peas. I try to keep the weeds down for her as she has so many things to look after,—the chickens, goslins, young turkeys, besides washing dishes, spinning, and wetting the cloth bleaching on the grass. I help a little by drawing the water.”

“It must be very beautiful in the country these September days.”

“It is not quite late enough for the woods to put on their brightest colors; that will be in October.”

“Which season do you like best?”

“I hardly know. Sometimes, when the country is covered with snow and the air is fresh and keen and healthful, I think there is no part of the year more enjoyable than winter; then when spring comes, and the buds start and the leaves are growing, I feel like a young colt ready to caper and kick up my heels. When the flowers are in bloom and the birds are singing I think there is no season like summer. At this time of the year, when we are gathering the harvests and the woods are more beautiful than our Queen Charlotte in her coronation robes, I think there is no period of the year so delightful as autumn.”

“Living in the town.” Miss Newville said, “I lose much that I should enjoy in the country. Sometimes I ride with my father to Roxbury, Dorchester, and Cambridge. He sits in his chaise while I pick the flowers by the roadside. A few weeks ago we went sailing down the harbor, and saw the waves rolling on the beach at Nantasket and breaking on the rocks around the lighthouse. Oh, it was beautiful!”

“I do not doubt it. As you love the country so much, I am sure you would be charmed with the view from our home, Miss Newville, especially at this season of the year.”

“Please tell me about it. I am sure from your description I shall be able to picture the scene.”

“You would see a broad valley, fields, pastures, meadows, uplands, the river flowing between banks fringed with elms and willows, hills farther away, and in the distance blue mountains; the forest all scarlet, russet, yellow, and crimson. That would be the view. You would hear the crickets chirping, crows cawing, and squirrels barking in the woods.”

“How delightful! I know I should revel in such beauty.”

“You asked me, Miss Newville, which season I liked best. I think, all things considered, I enjoy autumn more than any other portion of the year.”

“May I ask why you like it best?”

“Because it is the harvest-time, when we gather the gifts of Providence; and it sets me to thinking I ought to be doing something for somebody in return for what Providence is doing for me.”

Her eyes were watching his lips.

“Oh, go on, please, Mr. Walden, and tell me what the seasons say to you.”

“I hardly know what they say, but the change from the brightness of summer to the russet of autumn, the falling leaves, ripening fruits, fading flowers, shortening days, the going of the birds are like a sermon to me.”

“And why are they like a sermon?” she asked.

“Because the birds will come, the flowers bloom again, but the summer that has gone never will return; the opportunities of to-day will not be here to-morrow. I must make the most of the present, not only for myself but for others. Providence bestows rich gifts; I must give to others.”

“Thank you, Mr. Walden.”

She was silent. None of the officers, not Major Evelyn or any of the captains of his majesty’s troops, ever had uttered such words in her presence. Oh, could she but know if he were the one who rescued her from the hands of the miscreants! She must know.

“Mr. Walden, may I ask if we have not met before?”

“I think we have, Miss Newville.”

“I thought so, but was not sure. May I say I cannot tell you how grateful I am for the service you rendered me yesterday. I never shall forget it. I have not mentioned it, not even to my parents, for I would not have them concerned in the future for my welfare.”

“I can understand how anxious they might be, and I appreciate your prudence. The incident, I understand, is making some stir in town, especially among the soldiers. Doctor Warren has just informed me of it, and was kind enough to say it would be well for me to be on my guard, as the soldiers threaten retaliation. I learn, also, that no one as yet has been able to discover who the young lady was. People are wondering that no complaint has been made to the proper authorities by her or her friends.”

“Oh, I am so glad that no one knows it except ourselves. May I not ask that it shall be our secret, and ours only?”

“Most certainly, Miss Newville.”

“I cannot express my obligation to you, Mr. Walden. It is very honorable in you, and you will not let the soldiers injure you?” she said inquiringly.

“I do not think they will molest me. I shall not put myself in their way, neither shall I avoid them. I am a free citizen; this is my country. I know my rights, and I trust I shall ever be enough of a man to resent an insult to myself, and most certainly to a lady.”

“Do you remain long in town?” she asked.

“No; only a day or two—over Sunday. I shall start from the Green Dragon for home next Monday morning.”

“Do you have melocotoons in Rumford?” she asked, looking up to the luscious fruit, ripening above them.

“Not yet; we have some young trees, but they are not in bearing.”

“I should like to send a basket of fruit to your sister, if agreeable to you. Pompey will take it to the tavern Monday morning.”

“You are very kind. I will take it with pleasure, and you may be sure Rachel will appreciate your goodness.”

He comprehended her proposition,—that it was her delicate way of giving emphasis to her thanks for what he had done.

“Mr. Walden, I shall always be pleased to see you. I would like to hear more about what you see in nature, and the sermons that are preached to you.”

Berinthia and Major Evelyn joined them. The band had ceased playing, and the last of the guests were departing.

“I hope you have had an enjoyable afternoon,” said Mr. Newville.

“I have enjoyed myself very much, and cannot express my thanks for your hospitality,” Robert replied.

“It was very kind in you to honor us with your company,” said Mrs. Newville with a charming grace and dignity.

Miss Newville went with them to the gate, Major Evelyn improving the opportunity to walk by her side. Robert thought there was a shade of vexation on her face.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, while I talk with Miss Brandon a moment,” she said, dropping behind. Robert walked on a few steps and waited for Berinthia. Major Evelyn lingered a moment as if to have a last word with Miss Newville, but politeness would not admit his further tarrying; he lifted his hat and walked away.

“Oh, Mr. Walden, what do you think your good cousin has been saying?” said Miss Newville, calling him once more to the gate.

“Possibly that she has had an agreeable chat with one of his majesty’s brilliant officers,” Robert replied.

“Instead of being brilliant, he was positively stupid. I don’t like epaulets,” said Berinthia.

“Not those sent to protect us?” Miss Newville asked.

“No.”

“Neither do I.”

The words were spoken firmly, with an emphasis which Robert alone could understand.

Miss Newville locked her arm in Berinthia’s as if loath to have her go. They lingered by the gate, how long Robert could not say. Just what was said he could not recall. He only knew it was delightful to stand there, to hear her voice, to see the smiles rippling upon her face, and the loving eyes that turned towards him at times. When at last the good-night was spoken, when himself and Berinthia were quite a distance, looking backward he saw her white handkerchief waving them farewell.