All the next day the house at Piney Cove was in confusion with guests coming and going. This husband and wife were not once left alone.

Mrs. Harrington had come up to spend the day, and go out with them in the evening, and Tom Fuller was at his post as usual, though he appeared with a very blank face indeed.

"You look more like Don Quixote than ever," was Elsie's salutation, as he entered the room, where she sat with Elizabeth and their guests.

"How do you do, Mr. Fuller?" cried the widow. "I wonder you have any patience at all with that little witch; she teases you constantly; I am sure you must be amiability itself."

"She won't have the chance for some time to come, more's the pity," returned Tom, disconsolately.

"And why not, pray?" demanded Elsie.

"Because I've got to go to Pittsburg, and flounder about in coal mines, and the Lord knows what."

"Have you business there?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes, to be sure! Bless me, I was better off when I had no property. I could do as I pleased then, and didn't have to go about breaking my neck in pits, and bothering over all sorts of business that I understand no more than the man in the moon—taking care of my interests as they call it."

"Poor, unfortunate victim!" mocked Elsie.

"The penalty of riches," sighed Mrs. Harrington. "But think of the good they bring to yourself and all about you, Mr. Fuller."

"Yes, I know," returned he; "I'm an ungrateful wretch; it's in my nature; I need to have my head punched twenty times a day, there's no doubt of that."

They all laughed at his energy; even Elizabeth tried to come out of her anxious thoughts, and confine her wandering fancies to the conversation.

"When are you going, Tom?" she asked.

"Oh, to-morrow."

"He speaks as if it were the Day of Judgment," said Elsie.

"And I may be gone a whole week or more," pursued he.

"A small eternity," cried Elsie. "Dear me, dear me, how we all pity you."

"I don't believe you care a straw," said Tom, dismally; "you won't miss me."

"He wants to be flattered," cried Elsie.

"I am sure you will be missed, dear Mr. Fuller," said the widow; "you wrong your friends by a suspicion so cruel."

"I hope so, I'm sure," returned Tom, glancing at Elsie; but she was in one of her mischievous moods, and would not give him a gleam of consolation.

"Don't spoil him, Mary Harrington," said she; "the creature's vanity is becoming inordinate; isn't it, Bessie?"

"You can ill-treat him sufficiently without my assistance," said Mrs. Mellen, smiling; "I shall not help you, certainly."

"That is right, Bess," cried Tom; "stand by a fellow a little; she hasn't a spark of pity."

"Take care, sir!" said Elsie, lifting her embroidery scissors. "Don't try to win my natural allies over to your side by underhand persuasions."

"I am sure you don't need allies or assistance of any sort to be more than a match for a dozen men," said Tom.

"Another of my womanly prerogatives," replied Elsie.

"Well," said Tom, "there seems to be no end to them."

Everybody laughed at his tone, and Tom sat down near Elsie, tumbling her work, and making signs to her to go out of the room, that he might secure a few moments alone with her, but the little witch pretended not to understand his signals in the least, and went on demurely with her work.

"You ruin my work!" cried she, snatching her embroidery from his touch. "What on earth are you making such faces for?"

Tom laughed in a distressed way, red with confusion.

"Dazzled by your presence, Elsie," cried the widow, seeing that Tom had not presence of mind enough for the compliment.

Elizabeth began to get restless again; it was perfectly impossible for her to keep quiet any length of time that day, and she made some excuse for leaving them.

"Let me go with you," said Mrs. Harrington; "I know you are going to order luncheon, and I should so like to get a peep at your kitchen; it is a perfect Flemish picture."

"Particularly the crowd of dusky faces," said Elsie. "Mary Harrington, you're a humbug."

"I am sure she is quite right," said Tom, anxious to insure her departure; "I was in the kitchen one day and it looked as picturesque as Niagara."

Elsie perfectly understood the motive which led him to speak, and hastened to rejoin:

"If you think it so stupendous you had better accompany them, and get another peep."

"No," said Tom; "I might disturb the colored persons; I'll stay where I am."

"Bless me," cried Elsie; "what consideration! You will be bursting into unpremeditated poetry about the dark future, before we know it."

"Oh, Elsie," said Mrs. Harrington, "what a provoking creature you are."

She followed Elizabeth out of the room, and Tom was alone at last with his idol.

"Are you sorry I am going?" he asked.

"Do I look so?" she asked.

"No, you don't."

"Well, looks can't tell fibs," said she, provokingly.

"Oh, Elsie, be good to me now; just think; I shall be gone a whole week!"

"It's a calamity I dare not contemplate," replied she. "Now, whatever you do, don't break your neck in those horrid coal mines, or come back smelling of brimstone like a theatrical fiend."

"I believe you would jest during an earthquake."

"If it would stop the thing shaking I might," she answered. "There, there, don't be cross, Tom."

Elsie threw down her work, and with one of her quick changes of manner brought her lover back to serenity.

"If you would only let me do one thing before I go," he said, getting courage enough from her kindness to propose an idea that had been in his mind ever since he arrived.

"What is it, Monsieur Exigeant?"

"Just let me tell Grant of our—our—"

"Our what, stammerer?"

"Of the happiness you have promised me," said Tom, changing the original word from fear of vexing her.

"You were going to say engagement; don't deny it."

"And aren't we engaged?" he pleaded.

"Not a bit of it, Mr. Tom Fuller; I am just as free as air; please to remember that."

"Oh, Elsie!"

"And Elsie oh!" cried she. "But it's true! You said all sorts of foolish things about love, and I let you talk, but what right have you to say we are engaged?"

Tom instantly became so nervous that he could not sit still.

"Oh, Elsie, Elsie, how can you?" he pleaded.

"Now, aren't you deliciously miserable," said Elsie; "that is the way I like to see you; it's your duty, sir."

"I wouldn't think you so cruel at such a time."

"Oh, wouldn't you? And pray what right have you to think at all; no man has a right; that's another female privilege."

"You are worse than the Women's Rights people," said he.

"Now you are calling me names," cried Elsie, indignantly. "I won't stay with you another moment."

She half rose, but Tom caught her dress.

"Oh, don't go, don't!"

"Go on your knees then, and beg my pardon," said Elsie.

"No," said Tom, "I'll do no such thing."

"Ah, do now, just to please, you know."

Down went Tom in dumb obedience. After enjoying his distress and penitence for a few moments, Elsie suddenly threw both her arms about his neck, and whispered:

"I am very sorry you are going. I do love you dearly, Tom!"

He strained her to his heart with a burst of grateful delight.

"And may I tell Grant?" he pleaded.

"Not yet," she said; "wait till you come back; not a word till then."

"But as soon as I come?"

"Yes; if you are good. But not a look till I say the word."

She tried to escape from him, but he would not let her go until he had extorted one other pledge.

"You must write to me," he said.

"Now, Tom, I hate to write letters! I never write even to Grant, when I can possibly help it."

"But just a few words—"

"If you will behave yourself properly, perhaps yes."

"Every day?"

"Oh, worse and worse! Tom, get up. I hear Mary Harrington's voice; she's the most inveterate gossip."

"Promise then!"

"Yes—yes—anything; oh, get away!"

She struggled from him, and Tom had just time to resume his seat and look as decorously grave as perfect happiness could permit, when the door opened, and Mrs. Harrington entered, with her usual flutter.