ered, and the little girl and she would ride down a
lovely country lane to Dan's cottage. They were to start about six
o'clock, would ride under the shade of some spreading beech trees, and
come back in the cool of the evening.

The whole plan was delightful, and Sibyl had been thinking about it
all day. Now her mother had gone off to town, and most clearly had
forgotten her promise to the child.

"Well, Missy," said old Scott as he dug his spade deep down into the
soil; "don't stand just there, Missy, you'll get the earth all over
you."

Sibyl moved to a respectful distance.

"How is Dan?" she asked, after a pause.

"A-wrastling with his pain," answered Scott, a frown coming between
his brows.

"Is he expecting me and mother with the beautiful apples?" asked
Sibyl, in a somewhat anxious tone.

"Is he expecting you, Missy?" answered the old man, raising his
beetling brows and fixing his black eyes on the child. "Is he
a-counting the hours? Do ducks swim, Missy, and do little sick boys
a-smothered up in bed in small close rooms want apples and little
ladies to visit 'em or not? You said you'd go, Missy, and Dan he's
counting the minutes."

"Of course I'll go," replied Sibyl, but she looked anxious and
_distrait_. Then she added, "I will go if I possibly can."

"I didn't know there was any doubt about it, Missy, and I tell you Dan
is counting the minutes. Last thing he said afore I went out this
morning was, 'I'll see little Missy to-day, and she is to bring me a
basket of apples.' Seems to me he thinks a sight more of you than the
fruit."

Sibyl turned pale as Scott continued to speak in an impressive voice.

"Dear, dear, it is quite dreadful," she said, "I could cry about it, I
could really, truly."

"But why, Missy? What's up? I don't like to see a little lady like you
a-fretting."

"Mr. Scott, I'm awfully, awfully sorry; I am terribly afraid I can't
go."

Old Scott ceased to delve the ground. He leant on the top of his spade
and looked full at the child. His sunken eyes seemed to burn into
hers.

"You promised you'd go," he said then slowly.

"I did, I certainly did, but mother was to have gone with me, and she
has had to go to town about the bazaar. I suppose you couldn't take
back the apples with you when you go home to-night, Mr. Scott?"

"I could not," answered the old man. He began to dig with lusty and,
in the child's opinion, almost venomous vigor.

"Besides," he added, "it wouldn't be