irl twice as brilliant and
ten times handsomer. She was very willing, also, to take the nonsense
out of the Capsheaf girls, who thought themselves the most stylish
personages of their city world, and would bite their lips well to see
themselves distanced by a country miss.

In the mean time circumstances were promising to bring into Myrtle's
neighborhood several of her old friends and admirers. Mrs. Clymer
Ketchum had written to Murray Bradshaw that she had asked his pretty
milkmaid to come and stay awhile with her, but he had been away on
business, and only arrived in the city a day or two before the party.
But other young fellows had found out the attractions of the girl
who was "hanging out at the Clymer Ketchum concern," and callers were
plenty, reducing tete-a-tetes in a corresponding ratio. He did get one
opportunity, however, and used it well. They had so many things to talk
about in common, that she could not help finding him good company. She
might well be pleased, for he was an adept in the curious art of being
agreeable, as other people are in chess or billiards, and had made
a special study of her tastes, as a physician studies a patient's
constitution. What he wanted was to get her thoroughly interested in
himself, and to maintain her in a receptive condition until such time as
he should be ready for a final move. Any day might furnish the decisive
motive; in the mean time he wished only to hold her as against all
others.

It was well for her, perhaps, that others had flattered her into a
certain consciousness of her own value. She felt her veins full of the
same rich blood as that which had flushed the cheeks of handsome Judith
in the long summer of her triumph. Whether it was vanity, or pride, or
only the instinctive sense of inherited force and attraction, it was
the best of defences. The golden bracelet on her wrist seemed to have
brought as much protection with it as if it had been a shield over her
heart.

But far away in Oxbow Village other events were in preparation. The
"fugitive pieces" of Mr. Gifted Hopkins had now reached a number so
considerable, that, if collected and printed in large type, with plenty
of what the unpleasant printers call "fat,"--meaning thereby blank
spaces,--upon a good, substantial, not to say thick paper, they might
perhaps make a volume which would have substance enough to bear the
title, printed lengthwise along the back, "Hopkins's Poems." Such a
volume that author