hy she looked as if she might have
wings on her shoulders. It _is_ sad."

"She is not an object of pity. You will not think she is when you know
her. I only wanted to convince you, that you might be an object of envy
to one who seems so enviable to you."

I would gladly have lingered where I was, within the sound of Richard
Clyde's frank and cheerful voice, but I thought of poor Peggy thirsting
for a cooling draught, and my conscience smote me for being a laggard in
my duty. It is true, the scene, which may seem long in description,
passed in a very brief space of time, and though Richard said a good
many things, he talked very fast, without seeming hurried either.

"I shall see you again at the spring," said he, as he turned from the
gate. "You must consider me as the Aquarius of your domestic Zodiac. I
should like to be my father's camel-driver, if that were Jacob's well."

I could not help smiling at his gay nonsense,--his presence had been so
brightening, so comforting. I had gone down to the spring sad and
desponding. I returned with a countenance so lighted up, a color so
heightened, that my mother looked at me with surprise.

As soon as I had ministered to Peggy, who seemed mortified and ashamed
because of her sickness, and distressed beyond measure at being waited
upon. I told my mother of my interview with Richard, of his kindness in
carrying the water, the vision of the splendid carriage, of its
beautiful occupants, the fitting up of the old Grandison Place, and all
that Richard had related to me.

She listened with a troubled countenance. "Surely, young Clyde will not
be so inconsiderate, so officious, as to induce those ladies to visit
us?"

"No, indeed, mother. He is not officious. He knows you would not like to
see them. He would not think of such a thing."

"No, no," I repeated to myself, as I exerted myself bravely in my new
offices, as nurse and housekeeper, "there is no danger of that fair
creature seeking out this little obscure spot. She will probably ask
Richard Clyde who the little country girl was, whose water-pail he was
so gallantly carrying, and I know he will speak kindly of me, though he
will laugh at being caught in such an awkward predicament. Perhaps to
amuse her, he will tell her of my flight from the academy and the scenes
which resulted, and she will ask him to show her the poem, rendered so
immortal. Then merrily will her silver laughter ring through the lofty
hall. I have wan