d that his manner assumed a
certain austerity as one who had determined to be virtuous at any cost.
Morally he was on stilts for the moment, and the sense of elevation was
as novel as it was insecure.

"I know you are a good girl, Molly," he observed staidly, "that is why I
am so anxious to be your friend."

"Is there nothing more that I can do for you?" she inquired, with frigid
reserve, as she took up the lantern.

"Yes, one thing--you can shake hands."

The expression of indignant surprise appeared again in her face, and she
fell back a step, shaking her head stubbornly as she did so.

"I'd rather not--if you don't mind," she answered.

"But if I do mind--and I do."

"Still I'd rather not."

"Do you really dislike me as much as you dislike the miller?"

"More."

"Or the rector?"

"Oh, far more. You are a Gay."

"Yes, I am a Gay," he might have retorted, "and you, my pretty savage,
are very much a Gay, also."

Swinging the lantern in her hand, she moved to the door, as if she were
anxious to put an end to a conversation which had become suddenly too
intimate. On the threshold she looked back, and remarked in a precise,
authoritative voice:

"There are blankets in the bottom drawer if you find you haven't
covering enough."

"I shall remember--there are blankets in the bottom drawer."

"Patsey will bring hot water at eight and Uncle Abednego will give you
breakfast in the dining-room."

"Then I'm not to have it with you?"

"With me? Oh, I live with grandfather. I never come to the big house
except when Mrs. Gay is in town."

"Do you see nothing, then, of my mother when she is at home?"

"Sometimes I help her to make raspberry vinegar or preserves. If you
hear a noise in the night it is only the acorns dropping on the roof.
There are so many oaks. Good night, Mr. Jonathan."

"Good night," he returned, "I wish you'd shake hands,"--but she had
vanished.

The room was cosy and warm now--and flinging himself into a chair with
deep arms that stood on the hearth, he lit his cigar and sipped drowsily
the glass of brandy she had left on a silver tray on the table.
The ceiling was ridiculously high--what a waste of good bricks and
mortar!--the room was ridiculously large! On the smooth white walls
reddish shadows moved in a fantastic procession, and from the big
chintz-covered lounge the monstrous blue poppies leaped out of the
firelight. The high canopy over the bed was draped with prim folds of
da