here's the vicar. I don't know that he's what you'd call prosperous.
Then there's Mr. Martindale, of Rushyholme, and Little, of the Ghyll."

"Has any of them a daughter of about twenty-four years of age?" Wyllard
described the girl he had met to the best of his ability.

It was evident that the landlady did not recognize the description, but
she thought a moment.

"No," she answered, "there's nobody like that; but I did hear that
they'd a young lady staying at the vicarage."

She changed the subject abruptly, and Wyllard once more decided that the
English did not like questions.

"You're a stranger, sir?" she inquired.

"I am," said Wyllard. "I've some business to attend to further on, but I
came along on foot, to see the fells, and I'm glad I did. It's a great
and wonderful country you're living in. That is," he added gravely,
"when you get outside the towns. There are things in some of the cities
that most make one ill."

He stood up. "That tray's too heavy for you. Won't you let me carry it?"

The landlady was plainly amazed at his words, but she made it clear that
she desired no assistance. When she went out Wyllard, who sat down
again, took out the photograph. He gazed at it steadfastly.

"There's rather more than mere prettiness there, but I don't know that I
want to keep it now," he reflected. "It's way behind the original. She
has grown since it was taken--just as one would expect that girl to
grow."

He lighted his pipe and smoked thoughtfully until he arrived at a
decision.

"One can't force the running in this country. They don't like it," he
said. "I'll lie by a day or two, and keep an eye on that vicarage."

In the meanwhile his hostess was discussing him with a niece.

"I'm sure I don't know what that man is," she informed the younger
woman. "He has got the manners of a gentleman, but he walks like a fell
shepherd, and his hands are like a navvy's. A man's hands now and then
tell you a good deal about him. Besides, of all things, he wanted to
carry his tray away. Said it was too heavy for me."

"Oh," replied her niece, "he's an American. There's no accounting for
them."

CHAPTER VI

HER PICTURE

Wyllard stayed at the inn three days without seeing anything more of the
girl whom he had met beside the stream, although he diligently watched
for her. He had long felt it was his duty to communicate with the
relatives of the lad that he had befriended, and the fact that he had
found