grand air, and the easy manner he has brought back with
him of entering a parlor, or of passing the compliments of the day: and,
indeed, those respectable old ladies do pay him the honor of keeping him
in waiting, until they can arrange their best frontlets, and present
themselves in their black silks and in kerchiefs wet with lavender. Now
little Rose maintains an admiring and eager silence while that rare
brother astonishes these good Ashfield ladies with the great splendors
of his walk and conversation.

Then with what a bewildering success the traveller, under convoy of the
delighted Rose, comes down upon the family of the Tourtelots! What an
elaborate toilette Almira matures for his reception! and how the Dame
nervously dusts and redusts her bombazine at sight of his grand manner,
as she peeps through the half-opened blinds!

The Deacon is not, indeed, so much "taken off the hooks" by Phil, but
entertains him in the old way.

"Pooty well on't for beef cattle in Cuby, Philip?"

And Rose's eyes glisten, as Brother Philip goes on to set forth some of
the wonders of the crops, and the culture.

"Waael, they're smart farmers, I've heerd," says the Deacon; "but we're
makin' improvements here in Ashfield. Doaen't know as you've seen Square
Wilkinson's new string o' wall he's been a-buildin' all the way between
his home pastur' and the west medders?"

Phil has not.

"Waael, it's wuth seein'. I doaen't _know_ what they pretend to have in
Cuby; but in my opinion, there a'n't such another string o' stone fence,
not in the whole caounty!"

And Phil has had his little private talks with Rose,--about Adele, among
other people.

"She is more charming than ever," Rose had said.

"I suppose so."

And there had been a pause here.

"I suppose Reuben is as tender upon her as ever," Phil had said at last,
in his off-hand way.

"He has been very devoted; but I'm not sure that it means anything,
Phil, dear."

"I should think it meant a great deal," said Phil.

"I mean," continued Rose, reflectingly, and with some embarrassment of
speech, "I don't think Adele speaks of Reuben as if--as I
should--think--

"As you would, Rose,--is that it?"

"For shame, Phil!"

And Phil begged pardon with a kiss.

"Do you think, Phil," said Rose, concealing a little fluttering of the
heart under very smoothly spoken words, "do you think that Reuben really
loves Adele?"

"Think so? To be sure, Rose. How can he help it? It's enoug