e Broadstone carriage rolled swiftly on there was not much
conversation between its occupants. To the somewhat sensitive mind of
Mrs. Easterfield it seemed that Olive was a little disappointed at the
change of companions, but this may have been a mere fancy. The girl was
so wrapped up in self-concentrated thought that it was not likely that
she would have talked much to any one. Suddenly, however, Olive broke
out:

"Mr. Easterfield must be a thoroughly good man" she said.

"He is," assented the other.

"And you have always been entirely satisfied with him?"

"Entirely," was the reply, without a smile.

Now Olive turned her face toward her companion and laid her hand upon
her arm. "You ought to be a happy woman," she said.

"Now, what is this girl thinking of?" asked Mrs. Easterfield to herself.
"Is she imagining that any one of the young fellows who are now
besieging her can ever be to her what Tom is to me? Or is she making an
ideal of my husband to the disparagement of her own lovers? Whichever
way she thinks, she would better give up thinking."

But the somewhat sensitive Mrs. Easterfield need not have troubled
herself. The girl had already forgotten the good Mr. Tom, and her mind
was intent upon getting to her uncle.

"Will you please ask the man to stop," she said, "before he gets to the
gate, and let me out? Then perhaps you will kindly drive on to the
tollhouse and wait for me. I will not keep you waiting long."

The carriage stopped, and Olive slipped out, and, before Mrs.
Easterfield had any idea of what she was going to do, the girl climbed
the rail fence which separated the road from the captain's pasture
field. Between this field and the garden was a picket fence, not very
high; and, toward a point about midway between the little tollhouse and
the dwelling, Olive now ran swiftly. When she had nearly reached the
fence she gave a great bound; put one foot on the upper rail to which
the pickets were nailed; and then went over. What would have happened if
the sharp pales had caught her skirts might well be imagined. But
nothing happened.

"That was a fine spring" said Mrs. Easterfield to herself. "She has
seen him in the house, and wants to get there before he hears the
carriage."

Olive walked quietly through the garden to the house. She knew that her
uncle was not at the gate, for from afar she had seen that the little
piazza on which he was wont to sit was empty. She went noiselessly into
the ha