the east suburb of Westerton, more than two miles from the business
portion of the town.

Bessie Darrell was sixteen,--a tall, slender maiden, with irregular
features, brown complexion, dark eyes, and a quantity of dark, curling
hair which defied all restraint, whether of comb, net, or ribbon. Her
eyes were bright and her expression merry, but beyond this there was
little beauty in her face. A quick student, Bessie always stood at the
head of her classes for scholarship, and at the foot as regards
demeanor. Twice had she been expelled for daring escapades in defiance
of rule, and Aunt Faith's heart had ached with anxiety, when the
truant returned home in disgrace. But her merry vivacity had made home
so pleasant, that the seasons of penance were, as Tom said, "the
jolliest of the year," and Gem openly hoped that Bessie would soon be
expelled again. Poor Aunt Faith sometimes thought there must be a
tinge of gypsy blood in Bessie's ancestors on the Darrell side of the
house, for in no other way could she account for her niece's taste for
wild rambles and adventure. "Bessie, my child," she said one evening
during the previous year, when she had happened to discover her
wayward niece returning from a solitary drive with Sultan, one of the
carriage horses, in Hugh's high buggy, "if you are fond of driving,
you shall go when you please. I will hire a low basket phaeton for
your especial use, and I shall be glad to go with you when you wish."

"Oh, Auntie! if I can go when I please, there is no fun in it," said
Bessie, laughing.

"Then I am to conclude, my dear, that the fun, as you call it,
consists in deceiving me," said Aunt Faith, gravely.