yard, as a figure, bonneted and gloved, came out of the house,
and began to be busy among the rose-bushes. Another figure
presently appeared at the hall door, and called out —

"Fleda!"

"Well, Barby —"

This second voice was hardly raised, but it came from so much
nearer that the words could be distinctly heard.

"Mr. Skillcorn wants to know if you're going to fix the
flowers for him to carry?"

"They're not ready, and it wont do for him to wait — Mr. Sweet
must send for them if he wants them. Philetus must make haste
back, for you know Mr. Douglass wants him to help in the barn
meadow. Lucas wont be here, and now the weather is so fine, I
want to make haste with the hay."

"Well, will you have the samp for breakfast?"

"No — we'll keep that for dinner. I'll come in and poach some
eggs, Barby, — if you'll make me some thin pieces of toast —
and call me when it's time. Thin, Barby."

The gentleman turned his horse, and galloped back to
Montepoole.

Some disappointment was created among a portion of Mr. Sweet's