the report of the hapless fate of the missing articles.
The boys were there before her, penitently exhibiting the ruined cord and promising to do so no more.
"We didn't fink, mother," pleaded Don, looking up in her face with such a droll mixture of fun and entreaty in his roguish blue eyes, that she could not refrain from giving him a kiss and a smile as she answered, "Ah, my boys must learn to think and not take mother's things without leave. Now run away to your plays and try to be good children."
"Mother, I do think you're a little too easy with them," Mildred said in a slightly vexed tone.
"Perhaps; but if I make a mistake, is it not far better to do so on the side of mercy than of severity?"
"I suppose so; I shouldn't like to see them whipped."
Then laughingly she told the story of Fan's doings, and as needles and cord must be replaced, put on her bonnet and sallied forth upon the errand.
Mildred as one of the prettiest, most accomplished, graceful, and fascinating young ladies of the place, and belonging to one of the first families, was a good deal admired, and never lacked attention at a party, picnic or any sort of gathering of the young people of the town.
As she left the store where she had made her purchases, Spencer Hall crossed the street and joined her.
He was the only son of the wealthiest man in the place and, because of his great expectations, looked upon by most of the young girls and their mammas as a desirable match.
Mildred, however, was of a different opinion, knowing him to be idle, purse-proud, vain and conceited.
She therefore returned his greeting rather coldly; heartily wishing that he had not happened to see her, or that something would occur to rid her at once of his undesirable company.
Greatly amazed would the young exquisite have been could he have read her thoughts; for he had no doubt that she felt highly gratified and honored by his notice. Was he not arrayed in broadcloth suit, silk hat and immaculate kids, while she wore calico, cotton gloves and the simplest of straw bonnets? And could not his father buy hers out ten times over?
His manner was gracious and patronizing as he remarked—sauntering along by her side, "Why, Miss Mildred, can it be true that you are going to leave us? I don't see what Lansdale will do without you."
"It is quite true that we are going, Mr. Hall," she answered, with a slight curl of the lip; "and I suppose my father and mother will be missed; but I can not think that my loss will in any way affect the prosperity of the town or the happiness of the people."
"Some people's it certainly will," he said, with increased graciousness, exerting himself slightly to keep pace with her, as she quickened her steps to a very rapid walk. "We don't want to lose you; might it not be possible to persuade you to remain among us?"
"Certainly not; unless my parents should change their plans and decide to stay. Of which there is not the least probability."
"Do you know that you are walking very fast, Miss Mildred?" he said, laughing. "Do let us slacken our pace a little, for who knows when we may have the pleasure of walking together again."
"You must excuse me; I am in great haste. But there is not the slightest necessity for your exerting yourself to keep pace with me. It is broad daylight and I know the way."
"Now don't be sarcastic, my dear young lady. I'd be willing at any time to make a far greater exertion for the pleasure of your society; but if we move so rapidly it will shorten our interview considerably."
"I have already explained that I am in haste; there is much to be done in the few weeks before we leave," the girl answered coldly, pressing on with accelerated speed.
"Haven't time even for a word with an old friend, eh? Then good-morning, Miss Keith," and turning about in disgust, he sauntered leisurely along in another direction while she sped on her way as before.
"Is it possible! what does the girl mean!" he ejaculated the next minute, as on turning his head to look after her, he perceived that Mildred had actually stopped upon the sidewalk—stopped to speak to a mutual acquaintance, a lad a year or two younger than himself, who was working his own way in the world, getting an education by the hardest and helping a widowed, invalid mother.
For Frank Osborne Mildred had the highest respect, though she looked upon him as a mere boy and was wholly unconscious that to him she was the embodiment of every virtue and grace; that her words, looks and smiles were treasured up in his very heart of hearts; nor did she dream how unhesitatingly he would have laid down his life to save hers had it been in danger. It was only a boy's passion, but it was deep and strong.
The news of the intended removal of the Keiths to what, in those days, seemed a far distant region, had been a great shock to him; but with the hopefulness of youth he consoled himself with the resolve to follow and seek her out—when in the course of years he should earn fame and fortune—though she should be carried to the ends of the earth.
His eye brightened and his cheek flushed, as on turning a corner, he came suddenly upon her in her rapid walk, and she stopped and held out her hand in friendly greeting.
He took it almost reverentially.
"How d'ye do, Frank? and how is your mother to-day?" she was saying, her bright eyes looking straight into his.
"Better, thank you, Miss Mildred. And you are well? and oh, can it be true that you are all going so far away?" he asked with a wistful, longing look.
"Yes; to the land of the Hoosiers, wild Indians and wolves," she said gayly. "Don't you envy me?"
"I envy those that go with you," he answered, sighing. "You won't forget old friends, Miss Mildred?"
"No; no, indeed, Frank," she said, heartily. "But good-bye. I must hurry home," and with a nod and smile she tripped away; to the satisfaction of Hall who had jealously watched the whole interview.
He was glad it had been no longer, though he could not avoid the unpleasant consciousness that more favor had been shown to "that pauper" than to himself, the prospective heir to a comfortable fortune.
Chapter Third.
"Lessons so dear, so fraught with holy truth
As those her mother's faith shed on her youth."
"Now," said Mildred, taking up her sewing again, "I must work fast to make up for lost time, for I've set my heart on finishing this dress of Ada's to-day."
The words had scarcely left her lips when there came a loud crash and scream from the hall, followed by a sound of tumbling and rolling.
Up sprang mother, aunt and sister, scattering scissors, thimbles and work, and rushed toward the scene of commotion.
They found the stairs, and Fan, who sat weeping half way up, drenched with water; while at the foot were scattered fragments of a large pitcher, Cyril lying among them half stunned and with the blood streaming from a cut in his head; Don gazing down upon him from the landing and adding his mite to
