men who from their early boyhood are wont to consider horses as
objects quite as necessary to locomotion as shoes and stockings. But
Lawrence Croft was a fair graduate of a riding school, and he went away
in very good style to his cottage at the Green Sulphur Springs. "I
believe," he said to himself, as he rode through the woods, "that Miss
March expects no more of me than she would expect of any very intimate
friend. I shall feel perfectly free, therefore, to continue my
investigations regarding two points: First, is she worth having? and:
Second, will she have me? And I must be very careful not to get the
position of these points reversed."

When Miss Roberta went into the store-room, it was Peggy, who, under the
supervision of her mistress, measured out the fine white flour for the
biscuits for supper. Peggy was being educated to do these things
properly, and she knew exactly how many times the tin scoop must fill
itself in the barrel for the ordinary needs of the family. Miss Roberta
stood, her eyes contemplatively raised to the narrow window, through
which she could see a flush of sunset mingling itself with the outer
air; and Peggy scooped once, twice, thrice, four times; then she
stopped, and, raising her head, there came into the far-away gloom of
her eyes a quick sparkle like a flash of black lightning. She made
another and entirely supplementary scoop, and then she stopped, and let
the tin utensil fall into the barrel with a gentle thud.

"That will do," said Miss Roberta.

That night, when she should have been in her bed, Peggy sat alone by the
hearth in Aunt Judy's cabin, baking a cake. It was a peculiar cake, for
she could get no sugar for it, but she had supplied this deficiency with
molasses. It was made of Miss Roberta's finest white flour, and eggs there
were in it and butter, and it contained, besides, three raisins, an olive,
and a prune. When the outside of the cake had been sufficiently baked, and
every portion of it had been scrupulously eaten, the good little Peggy
murmured to herself: "It's pow'ful comfortin' for Miss Rob to have sumfin'
on her min'."

CHAPTER II.

About a week after Mr Lawrence Croft had had his conversation with Miss
March on the stile steps at Midbranch, he was obliged to return to his
home in New York. He was not a man of business, but he had business;
and, besides this, he considered if he continued much longer to reside
in the utterly attractionless cottage at