e. And, with the general permission, I am going to run out
pretty often myself, to see how things progress."

The bright, off-hand way of the last speaker seemed to please Mr. Fern,
for he heartily seconded this suggestion. When the table was vacated,
Mr. Fern asked if he might be excused for a few minutes, while he wrote
a couple of important letters, and requested Walker Boggs to show the
guests through the grounds, where they could smoke their cigars till he
returned.

Accordingly Weil and Roseleaf accompanied their new guide out of doors
and across an extensive lawn to an arbor at the further end, where a
handsome prospect of the Hudson unfolded itself. As Archie was wishing
for some feasible way of getting rid of Boggs, temporarily, that
gentleman espied an acquaintance in the adjacent road and went off to
speak to him.

"Are you in love yet, you dog?" asked Archie, as soon as he and his
young friend were alone. "What! You're not! Don't let an hour pass,
then, before you are. The best of all proverbs is, 'Never put off till
to-morrow what you can do to-day.'"

"How can I do this to-day?" was the doleful response.

"How can you help it, you mean? There she was at the table--Titian hair,
hazel-grey eyes, lovely waist--everything. Love! _I_ could fall in love
with that girl, marry her, get a divorce and commit suicide, within
forty-eight hours."

Even Roseleaf had to smile at this extravagant statement.

"Do you want me to do all of those things?" he asked.

"Only the first one, at present. If you can't do that, give up all ideas
of being a novelist and secure a place in some factory or counting-room.
Everything is ready for you. You are _persona grata_ here. Nothing can
come in your way. Oh, don't exasperate me!"

Roseleaf haltingly said he would do his best; and the next day he came
to Midlands, prepared to spend a month or longer.

CHAPTER VIII.

HOLDING HER HAND.

For the first three days Roseleaf gave most of his time to reading the
MSS. that Miss Fern had written. He could not say that he liked it,
exactly, but that was not necessary. To fill in the time, he consented
to let the girl read his own story that Gouger had rejected, though he
did this with trepidation, having a dread that she would think it
insipid. When she had finished it, however, her delight was unbounded.

"It is lovely!" she exclaimed, in response to his inquiring eyes. "I
cannot see why they refused it. I haven't been s