"My simple question is this, Mr. Sawyer, have you ever eaten a meal at the same table with my mother's heiress?"

"I have never seen her," replied Quincy coldly. He took his hat, and with a low bow quitted the house and drove away.

Lindy threw herself in a pa.s.sion on the sofa and burst into a flood of tears. She had played her last card and had lost.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN INFORMAL INTRODUCTION.

When Quincy drove into the barn he found Jim Cobb there, and he turned the horse over to him. Entering by the back door he pa.s.sed through the kitchen without seeing either Mandy or Mrs. Crowley, and went slowly upstairs. The house was very quiet. He remembered that Uncle Ike had gone to Eastborough Centre and 'Zekiel had gone to Deacon Mason's. It was necessary for him to pa.s.s the door of the room occupied by Alice Pettengill in order to reach his own room. The door of her room was open. He involuntarily glanced in and then stood still.

What vision was this that met his eye? The sun, now dropping to the westward, threw its rays in at the window and they fell upon the head of the young girl seated beside it.

The hair was golden in the sunlight, that real golden that is seldom seen excepting on the heads of young children. She seemed slight in figure, but above the average stature. She wore a loose-fitting dress of light blue material, faced down the front with white, and over her shoulders was thrown a small knitted shawl of a light pink color. Quincy could not see her face, except in profile, for it was turned towards the window, but the profile was a striking one. He turned to step forward and enter his own room. As he did so the board upon which he stood creaked. He stopped again suddenly, hoping that the noise would not attract her attention, but her quick ear had caught the sound, and, rising, she advanced towards the door, her hands extended before her.

"Is that you, Uncle Ike?" she asked in a clear, sweet voice. "I heard you drive in."

She had started in a straight line towards the door, but for some cause, perhaps the bright light coming from the wood fire in the open fireplace, she swerved in her course and would have walked directly towards the blazing wood had not Quincy rushed forward, caught her by the hand and stopped her further progress, saying as he did so, "Miss Pettengill, you will set your dress on fire."

"You are not Uncle Ike," said she, quickly. "He could not walk as fast as that. Who are you? You must know me, for you called me by name."

Quincy replied, "Under the circ.u.mstances, Miss Pettengill, I see no way but to introduce myself. I am your brother's boarder, and my name is Sawyer."

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Sawyer," said she, extending her hand, which Quincy took. "I feel acquainted with you already, for Uncle Ike speaks of you very often, and 'Zekiel said you used to board at Deacon Mason's. Don't you think Huldy is a lovely girl?"

Quincy avoided this direct question and replied, "Uncle Ike has been equally kind in speaking of his niece, Miss Pettengill, so that I feel acquainted with her even without this,--I was going to say formal introduction,--but I think that we must both confess it was rather informal."

Alice laughed merrily. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Sawyer? I have been alone nearly all day, and have really been very lonesome."

She turned and groped, as if feeling for a chair. Quincy sprang forward, placed a large rocking chair before the fire, then, taking her hand, saw her safely ensconced in it. He then took a seat in a large armchair at the end of the fireplace nearest the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. "Everybody has been so kind to me since I have had this trouble with my eyes. Of course 'Zekiel has told you about it."

"Yes," a.s.sented Quincy.

He really did not care to talk. He was satisfied to sit and look at her, and he could do this with impunity, for she could not see his earnest gaze fixed upon her.

"I have been used to an active life," said Alice. "I have had my business to attend to every day, and evenings I had my books, papers, pictures, and music. At first it seemed so hard to be shut out from them all, but years ago Uncle Ike taught me to be a philosopher and to take life as it came, without constantly fretting or finding fault. Uncle Ike says, 'It is not work but worry that wears men out,' That's why he came down here to live in the woods. He said they wouldn't let him work and so he worried all the time, but when he came here he had plenty to do, and in his work he found happiness."

"I am learning a good lesson," said Quincy with a laugh. "I have studied much, but I actually never did a day's work in all my life, Miss Pettengill."

"Then you are to be pitied," said Alice frankly; "but I see I should not blame you, you are studying now and getting ready to work."

"Perhaps so," Quincy remarked. "My father wishes me to be a lawyer, but I detest reading law, and have no inclination to follow in my father's footsteps."

"Perhaps you are too young," said Alice, "to settle upon your future career. I cannot see you, you know, and Uncle Ike did not say how old you were."

Quincy smiled. "I am in my twenty-fourth year," said he. "I graduated at Harvard two years ago."

"So old!" exclaimed Alice; "why, I am not twenty-one until next June, and I have been working for my living since I was sixteen."

Quincy said, "I wish I had as honorable a record."

"Now you are vexed with me for speaking so plainly," said Alice.

"Not at all," Quincy replied. "I thank you for it. I have learned from Uncle Ike that frankness of speech and honesty of heart are Pettengill characteristics."

"You might add," said Alice, "firmness in debate, for none of us like to own up that we are beaten. I remember years ago Uncle Ike and I had a long discussion as to whether it were better to be stone blind or stone deaf. I took the ground that it was better to be blind, for one could hear music and listen to the voices of friends, and hear the sound of approaching danger, and then, besides, everybody is so kind to a person who is blind. But you see Uncle Ike don't care for music, and had rather talk himself than listen, so he decided that it was best to be stone deaf, for then he could read and write to his friends. But of course neither of us gave in, and the question, so far as we are concerned, is still unsettled."

At that moment the sound of a team was heard, and a few minutes later Uncle Ike came upstairs, followed by the driver of the team bearing a big basket and a large bundle. These contained Uncle Ike's purchases.

"Wait a minute and I will go upstairs with you," called out Uncle Ike to the man. He entered the room, and looking somewhat surprised at seeing Quincy, he said somewhat sharply, "So you two have got acquainted, have you? I have been waiting for two days to introduce you."

"I am greatly indebted to Mr. Sawyer," said Alice. "When he pa.s.sed my door, which was open, I thought it was you and I started forward to meet you, but I missed my way and was walking directly towards the fire, when Mr. Sawyer interposed."

"I should have done the same thing had it been me," said Uncle Ike. "So I don't see as you were in any real danger."

Quincy thought that it was noticeably evident that the Pettengills were noted for plainness of speech.

"Here are three letters for you, Alice, and here is one for you, Mr.

Sawyer. I thought I would bring it over to you as I met Asa Waters down to the post office and he said you'd started for home. I'll be down in a few minutes, Alice, and read your letters for you." And Uncle Ike showed the man the way up to his domicile.

Quincy arose, expressed his pleasure at having met Miss Pettengill, and presuming they would meet again at dinner, took his leave.

The letter was from Quincy's father. It was short, but was long enough to cause Quincy to smother an oath, crush the letter in his hands and throw it into the open fire. The flames touched it, and the strong draught took it still ablaze up the wide-mouthed chimney.

But Quincy's unpleasant thought did not go with it. The letter had said, "Quinnebaug stock has dropped off five points. Foss & Follansbee have written Miss Putnam that she must put up five thousand dollars to cover margin. Better see her at once and tell her the drop is only temporary, and the stock is sure to recover."

Quincy sat down in his easy-chair, facing the fire, upon which he put some more wood, which snapped and crackled.

"I won't go near that girl again," said he, with a determined look upon his face. The next moment he had banished Lindy Putnam from his mind, and was thinking of that other girl who was sitting not six feet from him. He could hear Uncle Ike's voice, and he knew that Alice's letters were being read to her. Then he fell into a reverie as the twilight shadows gathered round him. As the room grew darker the fire grew brighter, and in it he could seem to see a picture of a fair-haired girl sitting in a chair and listening with evident interest to a young man who was reading to her from a newspaper.

The young girl placed her hand upon his arm and asked a question. The young man dropped the paper and gazed into the girl's face with a look full of tenderness, and placing one of his hands upon that of the young girl clasped it fondly, and Quincy saw that the face of this young man was his own. He sat there until there came a loud rap upon the door and Mandy's voice called out, "Supper's ready."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE COURTIN'.

While Quincy was taking his first steps in Lover's Lane, which steps so often lead to the high road of Matrimony, 'Zekiel Pettengill had reached the end of his lane, which had been very long with many devious turns, and he found himself at that point where the next important question was to fix the day.

'Zekiel was a strong-minded, self-willed, self-reliant young man, but in the presence of Huldy Mason he was as big a coward as the world ever saw. She had sent a little note to him, saying that she wished to see him that afternoon, and he knew their fates would be decided that day.