artifice, and she resorted to no jocular device--to no affectation of
the belief that she had been maligned--to learn what she desired.

"What did you say you would tell me?" she asked.

Mrs. Penniman came up to her, smiling and nodding a little, looked at
her all over, and gave a twist to the knot of ribbon in her neck.
"It's a great secret, my dear child; but he is coming a-courting!"

Catherine was serious still. "Is that what he told you!"

"He didn't say so exactly. But he left me to guess it. I'm a good
guesser."

"Do you mean a-courting me?"

"Not me, certainly, miss; though I must say he is a hundred times
more polite to a person who has no longer extreme youth to recommend
her than most of the young men. He is thinking of some one else."
And Mrs. Penniman gave her niece a delicate little kiss. "You must
be very gracious to him."

Catherine stared--she was bewildered. "I don't understand you," she
said; "he doesn't know me."

"Oh yes, he does; more than you think. I have told him all about
you."

"Oh, Aunt Penniman!" murmured Catherine, as if this had been a breach
of trust. "He is a perfect stranger--we don't know him." There was