by her surprise into a half-promise; at any rate she
did not absolutely refuse him, and accepted some little presents that he
made her.

'But he saw that her view of him was rather as a simple village lad than
as a young man to look up to, and he felt that he must do something bold
to secure her. So he said one day, "I am going away, to try to get into
a better position than I can get here." In two or three weeks he wished
her good-bye, and went away to Monksbury, to superintend a farm, with a
view to start as a farmer himself; and from there he wrote regularly to
her, as if their marriage were an understood thing.

'Now Harriet liked the young man's presents and the admiration of his
eyes; but on paper he was less attractive to her. Her mother had been a
school-mistress, and Harriet had besides a natural aptitude for pen-and-
ink work, in days when to be a ready writer was not such a common thing
as it is now, and when actual handwriting was valued as an accomplishment
in itself. Jack Winter's performances in the shape of love-letters quite
jarred her city nerves and her finer taste, and when she answered one of
them, in the lovely running hand that she took such pride in, she very
strictly and loftily bade him to practise with a pen and spelling-book if
he wished to please her. Whether he listened to her request or not
nobody knows, but his letters did not improve. He ventured to tell her
in his clumsy way that if her heart were more warm towards him she would
not be so nice about his handwriting and spelling; which indeed was true
enough.

'Well, in Jack's absence the weak flame that had been set alight in
Harriet's heart soon sank low, and at last went out altogether. He wrote
and wrote, and begged and prayed her to give a reason for her coldness;
and then she told him plainly that she was town born, and he was not
sufficiently well educated to please her.

'Jack Winter's want of pen-and-ink training did not make him less thin-
skinned than others; in fact, he was terribly tender and touchy about
anything. This reason that she gave for finally throwing him over
grieved him, shamed him, and mortified him more than can be told in these
times, the pride of that day in being able to write with beautiful
flourishes, and the sorrow at not being able to do so, raging so high.
Jack replied to her with an angry note, and then she hit back with smart
little stings, telling him how many words he had misspelt in his