tea which was stirred into the maelstrom which has been described. While
obtaining it, clad in her working garb, the patter of hoofs and a clear
girlish laugh--sweet as the carol of a meadow lark--came ringing along the
road. As the colonel and Alice halted to let her high-mettled pony and his
heavier Morgan drink, Mrs. Ruggles, who could not otherwise escape
observation, with becoming pride and modesty stepped behind the thick
willows, leaving the marquis with a pail of water between his legs and a
bunch of mottled feathers in his hand.

He stood dumb before the lovely girl, with her face sparkling from
exercise and enjoyment, and her golden hair escaping from its prison of
blue ribbons. While the horses drank she espied a cluster of cool violets
brightening the damp grass near the spring. The marquis had presence of
mind enough left to step forward and pluck them. Her "Thank you!" added
greatly to his embarrassment, which he expressed by vigorously twisting
the mottled feathers.

"What bird are those from?" asked Alice.

The question so increased his embarrassment that now the marquis could
express it only by chewing his cap, and she smilingly waited a moment for
the composure of the young naturalist's feelings.

"She was a low, chunky hen," said he, at length--"she was a low, chunky
hen, an' she laid a hundred an' seven eggs, an' then she had spazzums an'
whirled roun' till she died."

A burst of irrepressible laughter escaped Alice, with the exclamation,
"Did anybody ever see such a boy?" as she and her father rode away. And
those were the exceptionable words concerning her son which so rankled