"O I forgot to open the windows!" exclaimed Fleda ingenuously. "Cynthy,
won't you please go and do it? And take this with you," said she, holding
out the spatula.

"She is as good a fairy as _I_ want to see," said her grandfather, passing
his arm fondly round her. "She carries a ray of sunshine in her right
hand; and that's as magic-working a wand as any fairy ever wielded,--hey,
Mr. Carleton?"

Mr. Carleton bowed. But whether the sunshine of affection in Fleda's
glance and smile at her grandfather made him feel that she was above a
compliment, or whether it put the words out of his head, certain it is
that he uttered none.

"So you've had bad success to-day," continued Mr. Ringgan. "Where have you
been? and what after? partridges?"

"No sir," said Mr. Carleton, "my friend Rossitur promised me a rare bag
of woodcock, which I understand to be the best of American feathered game;
and in pursuance of his promise led me over a large extent of meadow and
swamp land this morning, with which in the course of several hours I
became extremely familiar, without flushing a single bird."

"Meadow and swamp land?" said the old gentleman. "Whereabouts?"

"A mile or more beyond the little village over here where we left our
horses," said Rossitur. "We beat the ground well, but there were no signs
of them even."