viland's lodge-keeper came to her ears. Mr.
Haviland was a Member of Parliament, a rich man with a large estate, and
his lodge-keeper had just left him to join a fortunate son in America.
Miss Barholm heard this from one of her village friends when she was
out with the phaeton and the gray pony, and she at once thought of Sammy
Craddock. The place was the very thing for him. The duties were light,
the lodge was a pretty and comfortable cottage, and Mr. Haviland was
known to be a generous master. If Sammy could gain the situation, he was
provided for. But of course there were other applicants, and who was
to speak for him? She touched up the gray pony with her whip, and drove
away from the woman who had told her the news, in a perplexed frame of
mind. She herself knew Mr. Haviland only by sight, his estate was three
miles from the village, her father was away, and there was really no
time to be lost. She drove to the corner of the road and paused there
for a moment.

"Oh indeed, I must go myself," she said at last. "It is unconventional,
but there is no other way." And she bent over and touched the pony again
and turned the corner without any further delay.

She drove her three miles at a pretty steady trot, and at the end of the
third,--at the very gates of the Haviland Park, in fact,--fortune came
to her rescue. A good-humored middle-aged gentleman on a brown
horse came cantering down the avenue and, passing through the gates,
approached her. Seeing her, he raised his hat courteously; seeing him,
she stopped her pony, for she recognized Mr. Haviland.

She bent forward a little eagerly, feeling the color rise to her face.

It was somewhat trying to find herself obliged by conscience to stop a
gentleman on the highway and ask a favor of him.

"Mr. Haviland," she said. "If you have a moment to spare----"

He drew rein by her phaeton, removing his hat again. He had heard a
great deal of Miss Barholm from his acquaintance among the county
families. He had heard her spoken of as a rather singular young lady who
had the appearance of a child, and the views of a feminine reconstructor
of society. He had heard of her little phaeton too, and her gray pony,
and so, though he had never seen her before, he recognized her at once.

"Miss Barholm?" he said with deference.

"Yes," answered Anice. "And indeed I am glad to have been fortunate
enough to meet you here. Papa is away from home, and I could not wait
for his return, b