I had jumped down as we the hill, and had walked by the side of the cart. Captain Forrester had turned round now and then to say a word to me, making pleasant general remarks upon the beauty of the country and the healthiness of the situation. But he did it out of politeness, I knew. When we reached the top of the hill, he gave the to Joyce and got down.  
"You'll be all right now, won't you?" said he, me in. "I won't come to the door, for I'm due at home;" and he nodded in the direction of the .
 
Then he must be staying in our village.
 
I said aloud, laughing, "Well, we could hardly get into trouble between this and our house, could we?"
 
"Hardly," laughed he back again, looking down the road to the right, which led to the ivied porch of our house.
 
How well he seemed to know all about us! Was he the 's guest as well as his friend? If so, Joyce would see him again.
 
"Won't you come in and see my father and mother?" said I.
 
 
I was not sure whether it was the thing to do in good society, such as that to which I felt that he belonged, but I knew that it was the thing to do, and I did it. Joyce seconded my invitation in an inarticulate .
 
I think we were both of us relieved when he said with that same gay smile, and speaking with his clear, well-bred accent: "Not now, thank you. But I will come and call very soon, if I may."
 
He added the last words turning round to Joyce. She blushed and looked uncomfortable. We were both thinking that mother might possibly not welcome this stranger so cordially as we had done. However, I was not going to have this good beginning spoiled by any mistake on my part, and I hastened to say: "Oh yes, pray do come. I am sure mother will be delighted to welcome any friend of Squire Broderick's."
 
He gave a little bow at that, but he did not say anything. He held out his hand to me, and then turned to Joyce. I fancied that hers rested in his just a moment longer than was necessary; but then I was in the mood to build up any romance at the moment, and no doubt I was mistaken. But anyhow, I turned the dog-cart down rather sharply towards the house, and Captain Forrester had to stand aside. I was not going to have the villagers gossiping; and such a thing had not been seen before, as Farmer Maliphant's two daughters talking with a stranger at the corner of the village street.
 
"I wonder whether he is staying at the Manor," said I, as we drove up the .
 
And Joyce echoed, "I wonder."
 
But she had plenty to do when she got in, showing her new purchases to mother, and telling her the market prices of household commodities, and I do not suppose that she gave a thought to her new admirer for some time. At all events, she did not speak of him. Neither did I. I did not go in-doors.
 
I always was an sort of a girl in some ways, and shopping and talk about shopping never interested me. I preferred to remain in the yard, and discuss the points of the new with Reuben. But all the time, I was thinking of the man whom we had met in town, and wondering whether or not he would turn out to be Joyce's lover. As I have said before, Reuben and I were great friends. He was a gaunt, loose-limbed old fellow, with a refined although by no means a handsome face, thin features, a fair pale skin, with white whiskers upon it. In character he was simple, , and taci turn, and had a queer habit of applying the same tests to human beings as he did to dumb animals. In the household—although every one respected his knowledge of his own business—I think that he was regarded merely as an honest, loyal nobody. It was only I who used sometimes to think that it was not all , but also a laudable desire for a quiet life, which led Reuben to be such an easy mark for Deborah's wit, and so to its arrows.
 
"She pulled, did she?" said he, with a smile that showed a very good set of teeth for an old man. "Ah, it takes a man to hold a mare, leastways if she's got any spirit in her."
 
"She didn't pull any too much for me," answered I, half . "What makes you fancy so?"
 
"I seed the young dandy a-driving ye along the road," said he. "I can see a long way. She pulled at first, but he took it out of her."
 
If there was any secret in our having driven out of town with Captain Forrester, Reuben had it.
 
"Joyce was frightened, and he had driven the mare at the squire's," said I. "She reared a bit in town, but I don't think he drove any better than I could have done."
 
Reuben took no notice of this remark. "She's a handsome mare," said he. "The handsomer they be, the worse they be to drive. Women are the same—so I've heard tell; though, to be sure, the ugly ones are bad enough."
 
Deborah was not handsome; but then, had Reuben ever tried to drive her? Oh, if she could have heard that speech! She came up the garden cliff in front of us as I , with some herbs in her arms—a tall, strong woman, with a wide waist and shoulders, planting her foot firmly on the ground at every step, and swaying slightly on her with the bulk of her person. When she was young she must have had a fine figure, but now she was not .
 
"Yes, she's a beauty," said I, stroking the mare's sides, and to her and not to Deborah. "When we are alone together we'll have fine fun." The mare stretched out her pretty neck to take the sugar that I held in my hand. She was beginning to know me already.
 
"Yes, Miss Joyce is nervous," said Reuben, . "Most like she would have more confidence in a beau. Them pretty maids are that way, and the beaux buzz about them like flies to the honey. But the beasts be fond of you, miss," he added, admiringly, watching me fondling the horse.
 
It was the higher compliment from Reuben, and it was true that every animal liked me. I could catch the in the field when it would let no one else get near it. I could milk the cow who kicked over the pail for any one but Deborah. I could the rabbits to me, and almost make friends with the hares in the woods. The cat slept upon my bed, and Taff watched outside my door.
 
I laughed at Reuben's compliment; but Deborah strode out of the back door just then, to hang out to dry, and Reuben never laughed when she was by. She gave me a sharp glance.
 
"You've got your frock out at the gathers again," said she. She did not often trouble to give us our titles of "miss."
 
"Have I?" replied I, carelessly.
 
"Yes, you have; and how you manage it is more than I can tell," continued she, . "Now you're grown up, I should think you might have done with jumping dikes, and riding horses without saddles, and such-like."
 
"Why, Deb," cried I, laughing, "I haven't jumped a since I was fourteen. At least, not when any one was by," added I, remembering a private exploit of two days ago.
 
"Yes; I suppose you don't expect me not to know where that black mud came from on your petticoat last night," remarked she, sententiously. "Anyhow, I'd advise you to mend your frock, for the squire's in the , and your mother won't be pleased."
 
"The squire!" cried I. "Is he going to stay to dinner?"
 
"Not as I know of," answered the old woman. "But you had better go and see. Joyce let him in, for I hadn't a clean , and I heard him say that he had come to see the master on business."
 
"Well, so I suppose he did," answered I.
 
Deborah smiled, a superior sort of smile. She did not say anything, but I knew very well what she meant. She was the only person in the house who openly insisted that the squire came to the Grange after Joyce. Mother may have thought it; I guessed from many little signs that she did think it, but she never directly spoke of it. But Deborah spoke of it, and spoke of it .
 
It irritated me. I pushed past her roughly to reach the front parlor windows. I wanted to see the squire to-day, for I wanted to find out whether our new friend was staying at the Manor.
 
"You're never going in like that?" cried she.
 
"Certainly," replied I. "What's good enough for other folk is good enough for the squire. The squire is nothing to me, nothing at all."
 
"That's true enough," laughed Deborah. "I don't know as he is anything to you. But he may be something to other folk all the same. And look here, Miss Spitfire, there may come a day, for all your silly airs, when you may be glad enough that the squire is something to some of you, and when you'd be very sorry if you'd done anything to prevent it. You go and think that over."
 
I curled my lip in scorn. "You know I refuse to listen to any insinuations, Deborah," said I. "The squire comes here to visit my father, and we have no reason to suppose that he comes for anything else."
 
This was quite true. The squire had certainly never said a word that should lead us to imagine that he meant anything more by his visits to the Grange than friendship for an old man laid by from his active life by frequent attacks of gout; but if I had been quite honest, I should have acknowledged that I, too, entertained the same suspicion as Deborah did.
 
"The women must always needs be thinking the men be coming after them," muttered Reuben, emerging from the darkness of a shed to the left with an over his shoulder.
 
If I had been less I should have laughed at the of this remark, which he would certainly not have dared to make unless it had been for the support of my presence.
 
"It don't stand to reason," went on Deborah, scorning Reuben's remark, "that a gentleman like the squire would come here and sit hours long for but to hear the gentry-folk abused by the master. It is a wonder he stands it as he do, for master is over-unreasonable at times. But, Lord! you can't look in the squire's eyes and not know he's got a good heart, and it's Miss Joyce's pretty face that'll get it to do what she likes with, you may take my word for it. The men they don't look to the mind so much as they look to the face, and the temper—and Joyce, why, her temper's as smooth as her skin; you can't say better than that."
 
This was true, and Deborah was right to say it in praise, although I do believe in her heart she had even a softer spot for me and my bad temper than for Joyce and her gentle ways.
 
"Birds of a feather, I suppose."
 
"You seem to think that it's quite an unnatural thing for two men to talk politics together, Deborah," said I, with a superior air of wisdom. "But perhaps the squire is wiser than you fancy, and thinks that at his time of life politics should be more in his way than pretty faces."
 
Deborah laughed, quite good-humoredly this time.
 
"Hark at the lass!" cried she. "The time may come when you won't think a man of five-and-thirty too old to look at a woman, my dear."
 
"Oh, I don't mind how old a man is!" laughed I, merrily, recovering my good-humor at the remembrance of that second string I had to my bow for my sister. "The men don't matter much to me—they never look twice at me, you know well enough. But Joyce is too handsome to marry an old , and I dare say if she waits a bit there'll come somebody by who'll be better suited to her."
 
"Well, all I can say is, I hope she may have another chance as good," insisted the obstinate old thing, shaking out the last stocking viciously and hanging it onto the line. "But she hasn't got it yet, you know; and if folk all behave so queer and snappish, maybe she won't have it at all. But you must all please yourselves," added she, as though she washed her hands of us now. And then giving me another of her sharp glances, she said, in conclusion, "And you know whether your mother will like to see you with a torn frock or not."
 
I went in with my head in the air. I thought it was very impertinent of Deb to talk of "good chances" in connection with my sister. I have learned to know her better since then.
 
Her desire for that marriage was not all ambition for Joyce. But at that time I little guessed what she already in the air.