all?"

"Of course they will," Rebecca replied, promptly. "I guess they won't
be such fools as not to for such a silly reason as that, when
Barney's got his house 'most done, and Charlotte has got all her
wedding-clothes ready."

"Ain't Barney terrible set?"

"He's set enough, but I guess you'll find he won't be this time."

"Well, I'm sure I hope he won't be," Rose said, and she walked along
silently, her face sober in the depths of her bonnet.

They came to Richard Alger's house on the right-hand side of the
road, and Rebecca looked reflectively at the white cottage with its
steep peak of Gothic roof set upon a ploughed hill. "It's queer how
he's been going with your aunt Sylvy all these years," she said.

"Yes, 'tis," assented Rose, and she too glanced up at the house. As
they looked, a man came around the corner with a basket. He was about
to plant potatoes in his hilly yard.

"There he is now," said Rose.

They watched Richard Alger coming towards them, past a great tree
whose new leaves were as red as flowers.

"What do you suppose the reason is?" Rebecca said, in a low voice.