‘Oh—pride,—injured pride of station! The wrong of not coming to our table and putting her knife into our butter."

"And living in such a place !" said Hugh.

"You don't know what a place. They are miserably poor, I am sure; and yet—I suppose that the less people have to be proud of the more they make of what is left. Poor people!"

"Poor Fleda!" said Hugh, looking at her. "What will you do now?" "Oh, we'll do somehow," said she cheerfully. "Perhaps it is just as well after all, for Cynthy isn't the smartest woman in the world. I remember grandpa used to say he didn't believe she could get a bean into the middle of her bread."

"A bean into the middle of her bread!" said Hugh.

But Fleda's sobriety was quite banished by his mystified look, and her laugh rang along over the fields before she answered him.

That laugh had blown away all the vapours, for the present at least, and they jogged on again very sociably.

"Do you know," said Fleda, after a while of silent enjoyment in the changes of scene and the mild autumn weather,-"I am not sure that it wasn't very well for me that we came away from New York."

"I dare say it was," said Hugh, "since we came; but what makes you say so?"

"I don't mean that it was for anybody else, but for me I think I was a little proud of our nice things there."

"You, Fleda!" said Hugh, with a look of appreciating affection.

"Yes I was, a little. It didn't make the greatest part of my love for them, I am sure; but I think I had a little, undefined, sort of pleasure in the feeling that they were better and prettier than other people had."

"You are sure you are not proud of your little King Charles now?" said Hugh.

"I don't know but I am," said Fleda laughing. "But how much pleasanter it is here on almost every account. Look at the beautiful sweep of the ground off among those hills-isn't it? line, Hugh?"

"And what a sky over it!"

What an exquisite horizon

"Yes; I love these fail skies. Oh, I would a great deal rather be here than in any city that ever was built!"

Fleda knew quite well what the thing was, and did not answer.

"But my dear Hugh," she said presently, "I don't remember that

sweep of hills when we were coming?"

"You were going the other way," said Hugh.

"Yes but, Hugh,—I am sure we did not pass these grain fields. We must have got into the wrong road.”

Hugh drew the reins, and looked, and doubted. "There is a house yonder," said Fleda; ask."

66 we had better drive on and

Look over it; don't you

see a light curl of blue smoke against the sky? We never passed that house and wood, I am certain. We ought to make haste, for the afternoons are short now, and you will please to recollect there is nobody at home to get tea."

"I hope Lucas will get upon one of his everlasting talks with father," said Hugh.

"And that it will hold till we get home," said Fleda.

happiest use Lucas has made of his tongue in a good while."

"It will be the

Just as they stopped before a substantial-looking farmhouse, a man came from the other way and stopped there too, with his hands upon the gate.

"How far are we from Queechy, sir?" said Hugh.

"You're not from it at all, sir," said the man politely.

Queechy, sir, at present."

"You're in

"Is this the right road from Montepoole to Queechy village?' "It is not, sir. It is a very tortuous direction indeed. Have I not the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Rossitur's young gentleman?"

Mr. Rossitur's young gentleman acknowledged his relationship and begged the favour of being set in the right way home.

"With much pleasure! You have been shewing Miss Rossitur the picturesque country about Montepoole?"

"My cousin and I have been there on business, and lost our way coming back."

"Ah I dare say. Very easy. First time you have been there?"

66

'Yes sir, and we are in a hurry to get home."

"Well sir,-you know the road by Deacon Patterson's? comes out just above the lake."

Hugh did not remember.

"Well-you keep this road straight on; I'm sorry you are in a hurry ; you keep on till—do you know when you strike Mr. Harris's ground?” No, Hugh knew nothing about it, nor Fleda.

me.

"Well I'll tell you now how it is," said the stranger, "if you'll permit You and your-a-cousin-come in and do us the pleasure of taking some refreshment; I know my sister 'll have her table set out by this time, and I'll do myself the honour of introducing you to-a-these strange roads afterwards."

"Thank you, sir, but that trouble is unnecessary; cannot you direct us?" "No trouble-indeed sir, I assure you, I should esteem it a favourvery highly. I-I am Dr. Quackenboss, sir; you may have heard

"Thank you Dr. Quackenboss, but we have no time this afternoon; we are very anxious to reach home as soon as possible; if you would be so good as to put us in the way."

"I really s'r, I am afraid-to a person ignorant of the various localities -You will lose no time-I will just hitch your horse here, and I'll have mine ready by the time this young lady has rested. Miss-a-won't you join with me? I assure you I will not put you to the expense of a minute. Thank you! Mr. Harden! Just clap the saddle on to Lollypop and have him up here in three seconds. Thank you! My dear Miss-a-won't you take my arm? I am gratified, I assure you."

Yielding to the apparent impossibility of getting anything out of Dr. Quackenboss, except civility, and to the real difficulty of disappointing such very earnest good will, Fleda and Hugh did what older persons would not have done,--alighted and walked up to the house.

"This is quite a fortuitous occurrence," the doctor went on; "I have often had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Rossitur's family in church--in the little church at Queechy Run; and that enabled me to recognise your cousin as soon as I saw him in the wagon. Perhaps Miss-a-you may have possibly heard of my name?—Quackenboss; I don't know that you understood-—”

"I have heard it, sir."

"My Irishmen, Miss-a-my Irish labourers, can't get hold of but one end of it; they call me Boss-ha, ha, ha!"

Fleda hoped his patients did not get hold of the other end of it, and trembled, visibly.

"Hard to pull a man's name to pieces before his face, ha, ha! but I am -a-not one thing myself-a kind of heterogynous—I am a piece of a physician and a little in the agricultural line also; so it's all fair."

"The Irish treat my name as hardly, Dr. Quackenboss-they call me nothing but Miss Ring-again.

And then Fleda could laugh, and laugh she did, so heartily that the doctor was delighted.

66

Ring-again! ha, ha! Very good! Well, Miss-a-I shouldn't think that anybody in your service would ever-a-ever let you put your name in practice."

But Fleda's delight at the excessive gallantry and awkwardness of this speech was almost too much; or, as the doctor pleasantly remarked, her nerves were too many for her; and every one of them was dancing by the time they reached the hall-door. The doctor's flourishes lost not a bit of their angularity from his tall ungainly figure and a lantern-jawed face, the lower member of which had now and then a somewhat lateral play when he was speaking which curiously aided the quaint effect of his words. He ushered his guests into the house, seeming in a flow of self-gratulation.

The supper-table was spread, sure enough, and hovering about it was the doctor's sister; a lady in whom Fleda saw only a Dutch face, with eyes that made no impression, disagreeable fair hair, and a string of gilt beads round her neck. A painted yellow floor under foot, a room that looked excessively wooden and smelt of cheese, bare walls and a well-filled table, was all that she took in besides.

"I have the honour of presenting you to my sister," said the doctor, with suavity. “Flora, the Irish domestics of this young lady call her name Miss Ring-again-if she will let us know how it ought to be called we shall be happy to be informed."

Dr. Quackenboss was made happy.

“Miss Ringgan; and this young gentleman is young Mr. Rossitur-the gentleman that has taken Squire Ringgan's old place. We were so fortunate as to have them lose their way this afternoon, coming from the Pool, and they have just stepped in to see if you can't find 'em a mouthful of something they can eat, while Lollypop is a getting ready to see them home.”

Poor Miss Flora immediately disappeared into the kitchen, to order a bit of superior cheese and to have some slices of ham put on the gridiron, and then, coming back to the common room, went rummaging about from cupboard to cupboard in search of cake and sweetmeats. Fleda protested and begged in vain.

"She was so sorry she hadn't knowed," Miss Flora said, "she'd ha' had some cakes made that maybe they could have eaten, but the bread was dry; and the cheese wa'n't as good somehow as the last one they cut; maybe Miss Ringgan would prefer a piece of newer-made, if she liked it; and she hadn't had good luck with her preserves last summer—the most of 'em had fomented—she thought it was the damp weather; but there was some stewed pears that maybe she would be so good as to approve; and there was some ham! whatever else it was it was hot!"

It was impossible, it was impossible, to do dishonour to all this hospitality and kindness and pride that was brought out for them. Early or late, they must eat, in mere gratitude. The difficulty was to avoid eating everything. Hugh and Fleda managed to compound the matter with each other, one taking the cake and pears, and the other the ham and cheese. In the midst of all this overflow of good-will Fleda bethought her to ask if Miss Flora knew of any girl or woman that would go out to service. Miss Flora took the matter into grave consideration as soon as her anxiety on the subject of their cups of tea had subsided. She did not commit herself, but thought it possible that one of the Finns might be willing to go out.

"Where do they live?”

"It's-a-not far from Queechy Run," said the doctor, whose now and then hesitation in the midst of his speech was never for want of a thought but simply and merely for the best words to clothe it in.

"Is it in our way to-night?"

He could make it so, the doctor said, with pleasure, for it would give him permission to gallant them a little further.

They had several miles yet to go, and the sun went down as they were passing through Queechy Run. Under that still cool clear autumn sky Fleda would have enjoyed the ride very much, but that her unfulfilled errand was weighing upon her, and she feafed her aunt and uncle might want her services before she could be at home. Still, late as it was, she determined to stop for a minute at Mrs. Finn's and go home with a clear conscience. At her door, and not till there, the doctor was prevailed upon to part company, the rest of the way being perfectly plain.

Mrs. Finn's house was a great unprepossessing building, washed and dried by the rain and sun into a dark dingy colour, the only one that had supplanted the original hue of the fresh-sawn boards. This indeed was not an uncommon thing in the country; near all the houses of the Deepwater settlement were in the same case. Fleda went up a flight of steps to what seemed the front door, but the girl that answered her knock led her down them again and round to a lower entrance on the other side. This introduced Fleda to a large ground-floor apartment, probably the common room of the family, with the large kitchen fireplace and flagged hearth and wall cupboards, and the only furniture the usual red-backed splinter chairs and wooden table. A woman standing before the fire with a broom in her hand answered Fleda's inclination with a saturnine nod of the head, and fetching one of the red-backs from the wall bade her "sit down."

Poor Fleda's nerves bade her "go away." The people looked like their house. The principal woman, who remained standing broom in hand to hear Fleda's business, was in good truth a dark personage; her head covered with black hair, her person with a dingy black calico, and a sullen cloud lowering over her eye. At the corner of the fireplace was an old woman, laid by in an easy chair; disabled, it was plain, not from mental, but bodily infirmity; for her face had a cast of mischief which could not stand with the innocence of second childhood. At the other corner sat an elderly woman sewing, with tokens of her trade for yards on the floor around her. Back at the far side of the room a young man was eating his supper at the table alone; and under the table, on the floor, the enormous family bread trough was unwontedly filled with the sewing woman's child, which had with superhuman efforts crawled into it and lay kicking and crowing in delight at its new cradle. Fleda did not know how to enter upon her business.

“I have been looking,” she began, “for a person who is willing to go out to work-Miss Flora Quackenboss told me perhaps I might find somebody here."

"Somebody to help?" said the woman, beginning to use her broom upon the hearth. "Who wants 'em?"