"Aye," murmured Huntington, as Dolly summoned courage to cross the room,
"it is one I will carry ever with me, Pamela, if _you_ bid me do so."

"I did not mean," faltered Pamela, casting down her dove-like eyes, but
not so quickly that she did not see the ardent glance of her lover,
"I--that is--oh yes, Aunt Euphemia," with sudden change of tone, "it is
growing somewhat dark, and we had better leave the moulds to harden.
Shall I tell Miss Bidwell that you are ready for supper?"

To which Miss Euphemia returned an affirmative, and the whole party
trooped back to the dining-room, Pamela leading the way, and Huntington
following her with a half-mischievous smile curving his usually grave
mouth.




CHAPTER III

OLIVER'S PRISONER


"I don't care anything about it," said Miss Moppet with decision. "It's
a nasty, horrid letter, and I've made it over and over, and it will not
get one bit plainer. Count one, two, jump one; then two stitches plain;
it's no use at all, Miss Bidwell, I cannot make it any better." And with
a deep sigh Miss Moppet surveyed her sampler, where she had for six
weeks been laboriously trying to inscribe "Faith Wolcott, her sampler,
aged nine," with little success and much loss of temper.