head in vain; she was bent on mischief.
He was mollified by the proposal, and I was obliged to get ready. On
starting he placed his cap on one side, held his whip upright, telling
me that it was not up to the mark in length, and doubled his knuckles
over the reins. He was a good Jehu, but I could not induce him to
observe anything along the road.

"Where's Mr. Morgeson's mills?"

We turned in their direction.

"He is a man of property, ain't he?"

"I think so."

"He has prime horses anyhow. That stallion of his would bring a
first-rate price if he wanted to sell. Do you play the piano?"

"A little."

"And sing?"

"Yes."

"I have not heard you. Will you sing '_A place in thy memory,
dearest,'_ some time for me?"

"Certainly."

"Are you fond of flowers and the like?"

"Very fond of them."

"So am I; our tastes agree. Here we are, hey?"

Charles came out when he saw us coming over the bridge, and Bill
pulled up the horses scientifically, giving him a coachman's salute.
"You see I am quite a whip."

"You are," said Charles.

"What a cub!" he whispered me. "I think I'll give up my horses and
take to walking as you have."

On the way home Bill held the reins in one hand and attempted to take
mine with the other, a proceeding which I checked, whereupon he was
exceedingly confused. The whip fell from his clutch over the dasher,
and in recovering it his hat fell off; shame kept him silent for the
rest of the ride.

I begged Alice to propose no more rides with Cousin Bill. That night
he composed a letter which he sent me by Charlotte early the next
morning.

"Why, Charlotte, what nonsense is this?"

"I expect," she answered sympathizingly, "that it is an offer of his
hand and heart."

"Don't mention it, Charlotte."

"Never while I have breath."

In an hour she told Phoebe, who told Alice, who told Charles, and
there it ended. It was an offer, as Charlotte predicted. My first! I
was crestfallen! I wrote a reply, waited till everybody had gone to
breakfast, and slipping into his room, pinned it to the pincushion.
In the evening he asked if I ever sang "_Should these fond hopes e'er
forsake thee."_ I gave him the "_Pirate's Serenade_" instead, which
his mother declared beautiful. I saw Alice and Charles laughing,
and could hardly help joining them, when I looked at Bill, in whose
countenance relief and grief were mingled.

It was a satisfaction to us when they went away. Their visit was
shortene