yn's Dam,' said Mr. Falkirk with a
face more expressive than his words.--'The bridge there is
broken.'

'Queer place to rest, sir! Mr. Falkirk--there is Mr. Kingsland
wondering why you keep me here.'

'He's eating his dinner.'

'Is he? I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza,' said
Wych Hazel, closing her eyes. 'He says he don't wonder you are
kept.'

'What shall I get you, Wych? You cannot go from here to the
next stopping place without anything,' Mr. Falkirk said
kindly.

'If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this
kitten'--

Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back
with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful 'chunks' of cake.
The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the
kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and
swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered
the various travellers, one by one. 'Mr. Falkirk,' said Mr.
Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if
his charge might be there, too, 'you are not surely--agoing on
alone?'

Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his
missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was
a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters
stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of
milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych
Hazel set down her empty tumbler.

'My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about
you!'

'What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?'

'Take it along, sir.'

'On your lap, I suppose!'

'Mr. Falkirk, the accuracy of your judgment is unparalleled.
Is that our coach at the door?'

'My dear, you will find plenty of cats at Chickaree,' said her
guardian, looking annoyed.

'Yes, sir--' said the young lady meekly, dropping her veil and
fitting on her gloves.

'All right, sir,' said the landlord appearing at the door.
'Roughish road, Mr. Falkirk--and t'other gents not enough
patience to divide among 'em and go half round--'

How much patience Mr. Falkirk carried to the general stock
does not appear. But presently, lifting one corner of her
basket lid, Wych Hazel drew forth a radiant spray of roses,
and laid them penitently upon the averted line of her
guardian's coatsleeve.

'Where did you get that?' he said. 'You had better put it in
the basket, my dear; it will stand a better chance to keep
fresh.'

'Do you prefer pinks, sir?--or he