frightened even at a hideous steam
road-rolling machine which passed us. As I drove up to Mrs. Clarkson's
door I found that most of the boarders were on the piazza--the memories
of ladies are usually good at times. Alice immediately appeared,
composed of course, but more radiant than ever.

"Why, where are the boys?" she exclaimed.

"I was afraid they might annoy your mother," I replied, "so I left them
behind."

"Oh, mother hardly feels well enough to go today," said she; "she is
lying down."

"Then we can pick up the boys on the road," said I, for which remark,
my enchantress, already descending the steps, gave me a look which the
ladies behind her would have given their best switches to have seen.

We drove off as decorously as if it were Sunday and we were driving to
church; we industriously pointed out to each other every handsome
garden and tasteful residence we passed; we met other people driving,
and conversed fluently upon their horses, carriages and dress. But when
we reached the edge of the town, and I turned into "Happy Valley," a
road following the depressions and curves of a long, well-wooded
valley, in which there was not a single straight line, I turned and
looked into my darling's face. Her eyes met mine, and, although they
were full of a happiness which I had never seen in them before, they
filled with tears, and their dear owner dropped her head on my
shoulder. What we said on that long drive would not interest the
reader. I have learned by experience to skip all love talks in novels;
no matter how delightful the lovers may be. Recalling now our
conversation, it does not seem to me to have had anything wonderful it
in. I will only say that if I had been happy on the evening before, my
happiness now seemed to be sanctified; to be favored with the love and
confidence of a simple girl scarcely past her childhood is to receive a
greater honor than court or field can bestow; but even this honor is
far surpassed by that which comes to a man when a woman of rare
intelligence, tact and knowledge of society and the world, unburdens
her heart of all its hopes and fears, and unhesitatingly leaves her
destiny to be shaped by his love. Women like Alice Mayton do not thus
give themselves unreservedly away except when their trust is born of
knowledge as well as affection, and the realization of all this changed
me on that afternoon from whatever I had been into what I had long
hoped I might one day be.

But