o were
returning to that village after bringing fish and oysters to the
interior, he told them in explanation of the odor that clung to the
vehicles. It was great good fortune that they could be had just at
this time. Presently, here they were, with Nurse Johnson, comfortably
installed upon a feather-bed, Mrs. Ashley and the two girls in one
wagon, while the farmer rode in the other to look after such household
effects as they were taking.

Both because of Nurse Johnson and the sandy nature of the soil they
were obliged to proceed in a leisurely manner, but the family,
rejoicing in the sense of security afforded by the presence of an
armed escort, minded neither the manner nor the mode of travel. With
the buoyancy of youth, Peggy and Sally soon regained their accustomed
spirits, and chatted gaily.

Above was the blue and white woof of the spring sky. The plaint of the
meadow-lark and the note of the robin sounded sweetly against the
stillness of the air. A trio of crows sailed athwart the blue, their
great wings beating the air to slow, solemn measure. The pine woodland
added shelter and picturesqueness to the road, and to the light breeze
its sweet resinous odor. And Fairfax was here, there, everywhere,
looking after things with all the zeal of a young officer.

"You are merry," he said after a time, accommodating the speed of his
horse to that of the wagon in which the girls rode. His manner had
brightened perceptibly since the beginning of the journey, and he
spoke lightly. "Yet I feared that you might be annoyed by the smell of
fish. They are oyster wagons, you know."

"Is it fish that we smell?" cried Sally, laughing for very joyousness,
and forgetting to wonder at the unusualness of his addressing them.
"Methought it was the pines."

"Nay; 'tis fish," he declared. "At what are you looking, Mistress
Peggy?"

"I am admiring thy horse," she replied. "'Tis a beauty. Almost as
pretty as my own little mare."

"Nay," he protested. "Few animals are that. Star hath not many
equals."

Peggy flushed with pleasure. Praise of her little mare always
delighted her.

"Thee can afford to be unstinted in thy praise when thine own mount
hath so much of beauty," she remarked.

"And what has thee named her?" questioned Sally. "It should be
something charming."

"A name hath just occurred to me that is both charming and uncommon,"
he responded, meeting her glance without blushing. It was the first
time that she had see