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My thanks were few and awkward, for there still hung to the missive a basting thread, and it was as warm as a nestling bird. I bent low--everybody was emotional in those days--kissed the fragrant thing, thrust it into my bosom, and blushed worse than Camille.

"That was not play, Mr. Smith," Miss Harper had begun to respond, when a voice across the sedge-field called with startling clearness,

The young ladies were in rapture. Miss Harper asked how he had done it.

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"A short three miles."

"No," she laughed, "and if I go back with you to Wiggins--to the little white cottage, you know, opposite the blacksmith's shop,--you'll give me what you've got for me, won't you?" She dropped her head to one side and a mocking-bird chuckle rippled in her throat.

"Why, I can read my safety in your face. You can't read anything in mine; you're afraid to look."

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