l, that his
father complained about? But he will have four thousand. Why, you'll have
your carriage, Maggie. Well! I hope Mr. Buxton has taken it kindly, because
he'll have a deal to do with the settlements. I'm sure I thought he was
engaged to Erminia."

Ringing changes on these subjects all the afternoon, Mrs. Browne sat with
Maggie. She occasionally wandered off to speak about Edward, and how
favorably his future prospects would be advanced by the engagement.

"Let me see--there's the house in Combehurst: the rent of that would be
a hundred and fifty a-year, but we'll not reckon that. But there's the
quarries" (she was reckoning upon her fingers in default of a slate, for
which she had vainly searched), "we'll call them two hundred a-year, for
I don't believe Mr. Buxton's stories about their only bringing him
in seven-pence; and there's Newbridge, that's certainly thirteen
hundred--where had I got to, Maggie?"

"Dear mamma, do go and lie down for a little; you look quite flushed," said
Maggie, softly.

Was this the manner to view her betrothal with such a man as Frank?
Her mother's remarks depressed her more than she could have thought it
possible; the excitement of the morning was having its reaction, and she
longed to go up to the solitude under the thorn-tree, where she had hoped
to spend a quiet, thoughtful afternoon.

Nancy came in to replace glasses and spoons in the cupboard. By some
accident, the careful old servant broke one of the former. She looked up
quickly at her mistress, who usually visited all such offences with no
small portion of rebuke.

"Never mind, Nancy," said Mrs. Browne. "It's only an old tumbler;
and Maggie's going to be married, and we must buy a new set for the
wedding-dinner."

Nancy looked at both, bewildered; at last a light dawned into her mind, and
her face looked shrewdly and knowingly back at Mrs. Browne. Then she said,
very quietly:

"I think I'll take the next pitcher to the well myself, and try my luck. To
think how sorry I was for Miss Maggie this morning! 'Poor thing,' says I to
myself, 'to be kept all this time at that confounded well' (for I'll not
deny that I swear a bit to myself at times--it sweetens the blood), 'and
she so tired.' I e'en thought I'd go help her; but I reckon she'd some
other help. May I take a guess at the young man?"

"Four thousand a-year! Nancy;" said Mrs. Browne, exultingly.

"And a blithe look, and a warm, kind heart--and a free step--and