rrangements.
The single chair that was in the mill was taken from Mr.
Falkirk and brought up to do duty as a table, with a board
laid upon it. On this board was set the bird, hot and savoury,
on its blue-edged dish; another plate with bread and salt, and
a glass of water; together with a very original knife and
fork, that were probably introduced soon after the savages
'left.' Mrs. Saddler's eyes grew big as she looked; but Rollo
and the miller's girl understood each other perfectly and
wanted none of her help. Well----

'Girls blush sometimes because they are alive'--but seeing it
could not be helped, as Mr. Falkirk had said, Wych Hazel
rallied whatever of her was grown up, and tried to do justice
to both the cooking and the compliment. The extreme gravity
and propriety of her demeanour were a little suspicious to one
who knew her well, and there could be no sort of question as
to the prettiest possible curl which now and then betrayed
itself at the corners of her mouth; but Miss Kennedy had
herself remarkably in hand, and talked as demurely from behind
the breast-bone of her robin as if it had been a small
mountain ridge. Mr. Falkirk looked on.

'Where did you find that, Rollo?'

'Somewhere within a mile of circuit, sir,' said Rollo, who had
taken a position of ease in the mill doorway, half lying on
the floor, and looking out on the lake.

'You are a good provider.'

'Might have had fish--if my tackle had not been out of reach. I
did manage to pick up a second course, though----Miss Phoebe, I
think it is time for the second course----'

His action, at least, Phoebe understood, if not his words; for
as he sprang up and cleared the board of the relics of the
robin, the miller's daughter, looking as if the whole thing
was a play, brought out from some crib a large platter of wild
strawberries bordered with vine leaves; along with some bowls
of very good looking milk.

'Upon my word, Rollo!'--said the other gentleman.

'Ah, that touches you, Mr. Falkirk! You don't deserve it--but
you may have some. And I will be generous--Mr. Falkirk, here is
a wing of the robin.'

'No, thank you,' said the other, laughing. 'Why these are
fine!'

'Is the air fine out of doors, Mr. Rollo?' asked the young
lady.

'Nothing can be finer.'

'What you call "strong," sir?'

'Strong as a rose--or as a lark's whistle--or as June sunlight;
strong in a gentle way; I don't admire things that are _too_
strong.'

'Things that