d
can I see her?"

"Oh, she's well enough, and you can see her if you can find her; but to
save my soul, Miss Dora, I couldn't tell you where she is at this minute.
You never did in all your life see anybody like that Miss Miriam is. Why,
true as I speak, the very sparrers in the trees isn't as wild as she is.
From sunrise this morning she has been on the steady go. You'd think, to
see her, that the hens and the cows and the colts and even the old apple
trees was all silver and gold and diamonds in her eyes, she takes on so
about 'em. I can't keep up with her, I can't. The last time I see her,
she was goin' into the barn, and I reckon she's thar yit, huntin' hens'
nests. If you like, I'll go look for her, Miss Dora."

Phoebe had often worked for the Bannister family, and Dora knew her to be
one of the slowest movers among mankind; besides, the idea of calling
upon a young lady who was engaged in looking for hens' nests in a barn
was an exceedingly attractive one. It had not been long since Dora had
taken much delight in that sort of thing herself.

"You needn't trouble yourself, Phoebe," she said; "I will walk over to
the barn. I would a great deal rather do that than wait in the house. If
I don't see her there, I will come back and leave our cards."

"You might as well do that," said Phoebe, laughing, "for if she isn't
thar, she's as like as not at the other end of the farm in the field
where the colts is."

The Cobhurst barn was an unusual, and, indeed, a remarkable structure. It
was not as old as the house, although it had been built many years ago by
Mathias Butterwood, in a fashion to suit his own ideas of what a barn
should be.

It was an enormous structure, a great deal larger than the house, and
built of stone. It stood against a high bluff, and there was an entrance
on the level to the vast lower story, planned to accommodate Mr.
Butterwood's herd of fine cattle. A little higher up, a wide causeway,
supported by an arch, led into the second story, devoted to horses and
all kinds of vehicles, and still higher, almost on a level with the
house, there was a road, walled on each side, by which the loaded
haywagons could be driven in upon the great third floor of the barn.

When Dora Bannister reached this barn, having followed a path which led
to the lower story, she looked in at an open door, and received the
impression of vast extent, emptiness, and the scent of hay. She entered,
looking about from side t