s.

'The night man!' I exclaimed, pulling up a moment to observe him.

Then a buggy came in sight, and presently we heard a loud 'hello' from
David Brower, who, worried by our long stay, had come out in quest of
us.

Chapter 14

Hope's love of music became a passion after that night. Young Mr
Livingstone, 'the city chap' we had met at the church, came over next
day. His enthusiasm for her voice gave us all great hope of it. David
Brower said he would take her away to the big city when she was
older. They soon decided to send her in September to the big school in
Hillsborough.

'She's got t' be a lady,' said David Brower, as he drew her into his lap
the day we had all discussed the matter. 'She's learnt everything in
the 'rithinetic an' geography an' speller. I want her t' learn somethin'
more scientific.'

'Now you're talkin',' said Uncle Eb. 'There's lots o' things ye can't
learn by cipherin'. Nuthin's too good fer Hope.'

'I'd like t' know what you men expect of her anyway,' said Elizabeth
Brower.

'A high stepper,' said Uncle Eb. 'We want a slick coat, a kind uv a
toppy head, an a lot O' ginger. So't when we hitch 'er t' the pole bime
bye we shan't be 'shamed o' her.'

'Eggzac'ly,' said David Brower, laughing. 'An' then she shall have the
best harness in the market.'

Hope did not seem to comprehend all the rustic metaphors that had been
applied to her. A look of puzzled amusement came over her face, and then
she ran away into the garden, her hair streaming from under her white
sun-bonnet.

'Never see sech a beauty! Beats the world,' said Uncle Eb in a whisper,
whereat both David and Elizabeth shook their heads.

'Lord o' mercy! Don't let her know it,' Elizabeth answered, in a low
tone. 'She's beginning to have-'

Just then Hope came by us leading her pet filly that had been born
within the month. Immediately Mrs Brower changed the subject.

'To have what?' David enquired as soon as the girl was out of hearing.

'Suspicions,' said Elizabeth mournfully. 'Spends a good deal of her time
at the looking-glass. I think the other girls tell her and then that
young Livingstone has been turning her head.'

'Turning her head!' he exclaimed.

'Turning her head,' she answered. 'He sat here the other day and
deliberately told her that he had never seen such a complexion and such
lovely hair.'

Elizabeth Brower mocked his accent with a show of contempt that feebly
echoed my own emotions.

'That's the