tch of maple woods with a
ravine below, where ferns grew darkly and water hurried over rocks.
Lydia was lying back in the carriage, swaying with its motion, and
jubilant to her finger-tips. It was young summer now, and she answered
back every pulse of the stirring earth with heart-beats of her own. Eben
was laughing.

"That's the way to do it," he was saying, in an exaggerated triumph.
"Why, you've got to talk to 'em till they think that bottle o' vanilla's
the water o' life, an' they'll have to knife ye if they can't git it no
other way."

"You're a born peddler," smiled Lydia. Then she asked, "How'd you happen
to start out?" She had heard the simple reason many times; but she loved
his talk, and her idle mind preferred old tales to new.

Eben fell in with her mood, as one begins an accustomed story to a
child.

"Well," he said, and he sobered a little, as memory recalled him, "you
know, when mother died, old Betty stayed an' kep' house for me. An' when
she died, this last spring, I kinder thought I'd git over it sooner if I
traveled round a mite to see the sights. I didn't want to git too fur
for fear I'd be sick on 't, like the feller that started off to go round
the world, an' run home to spend the first night. You sleepy now?"

He had shrewdly learned that she liked long, dull stories to lull her
into the swing of a nap.

"No," said Lydia drowsily. "You go on. Then what?"

"Well, so I got Jim Ross to take over the stock an' run the farm to the
halves. I took along a few essences to give me suthin' to think about,
an' when I got tired o' rovin' I expected to turn back home an' begin
bachin' on 't same's I'd got to end. An' then I stopped at your mother's
to kinder talk over old times when my mother was little; an' you come to
the door an' let me in."

"Eben," said Lydia, out of her dream and with all her story-book
knowledge at hand, "don't you s'pose 'twas ordered?"

"What?"

"Don't you s'pose 'twas just put into your head to start out that way so
't you could come an' find--me?"

She spoke timidly, but Eben answered with the bluff certainty he had in
readiness for such speculations:--

"Ain't a doubt of it. Sleepy now?"

He turned and looked at her as she lay back against the little pillow he
had bought for her on the way. The sun and wind had overlaid the
delicate bloom of her cheek with rose. The morning damp had curled her
hair into rings. Something known as happiness, for want of a better
wor