uch luckier than I, because I never had an aunt
of my own to come and 'tuck me up' at night with her hair hanging all
about her--like a beautiful cloak. So, you see, I have no boyish
recollections to go upon, but I think I can imagine--"

"And what do you think of the Sergeant?" Anthea enquired, changing the
subject abruptly.

"I like him so much that I am going to take him at his word, and call
upon him at the first opportunity."

"Did Aunt Priscilla tell you that he comes marching along regularly
every day, at exactly the same hour?"

"Yes,--to see how the peaches are getting on!" nodded Bellew.

"For such a very brave soldier he is a dreadful coward," said Anthea,
smiling, "it has taken him five years to screw up courage enough to tell
her that she's uncommonly young for her age. And yet, I think it is just
that diffidence that makes him so lovable. And he is so simple, and so
gentle--in spite of all his war medals. When I am moody, and cross, the
very sight of him is enough to put me in humour again."

"Has he never--spoken to Miss Priscilla,--?"

"Never,--though, of course, she knows, and has done from the very first.
I asked him once, why he had never told her what it was brought him so
regularly,--to look at the peaches,--and he said, in his quick, sharp
way: 'Miss Anthea,--can't be done, mam,--a poor, battered, old
soldier,--only one arm,--no mam.'"

"I wonder if one could find just such another Sergeant outside Arcadia,"
said Bellew, "I wonder!"

Now they were approaching a stile towards which Bellew had directed his
eyes, from time to time, as, for that matter, curiously enough, had
Anthea; but to him it seemed that it never would be reached, while to
her, it seemed that it would be reached much too soon. Therefore she
began to rack her mind trying to remember some gate, or any gap in the
hedge that should obviate the necessity of climbing it. But, before she
could recall any such gate, or gap, they were at the stile, and Bellew,
leaping over, had set down the basket, and stretched out his hand to aid
her over. But Anthea, tall, and lithe, active and vigorous with her
outdoor life, and used to such things from her infancy, stood a moment
hesitating. To be sure, the stile was rather high, yet she could have
vaulted it nearly, if not quite, as easily as Bellew himself, had she
been alone. But then, she was not alone, moreover, be it remembered,
this was in Arcadia of a mid-summer night. Thus, she hesit