in the tumult of his feelings, calling me "Patty."
What would Robert say? What would everybody
say? The proud old housekeeper! The
imperious servants! Robert and I perfect
nobodies, living in a little cottage, and keeping
a farm. I am not going to tell my real name,
so I may confess that I have churned the butter
very often, when Robert has had the whole
household out in the hay-field, and has left
no one at home but the cat. And I can make
cheese; and, altogether, I am not at all the sort
of person to be on such familiar terms as to be
called Patty by the squire. It turned me scarlet.

But I had to tell him what I thought
of the conclusion of Pet's note. Should I
call him by his christian name? The bare
idea brought me to my senses. It was a
pretty name—Oliver. The surname, of course,
I dare not tell here for my life, but it was
only of one syllable, which was the proper
thing to go with a christian name of three. But
to go on with the conclusion of Pet's letter.
I must confess I saw nothing in this scrap of
writing from beginning to end, conclusion and
all, that warranted any one being in the least
excited about it. And when I heard that her
grandfather had insisted, and her mother
commanded, and both stood over her, and one gave
her a new pen before the letter could be written,
I was more than ever puzzled what to say.
But of course the squire never knew what
trouble Pet gave those about her, before he
got his long expected letter.

"My dear Patty," exclaimed the squire,
quite hastily, "why do you not answer me?"

His dear Patty! As if I was his sister;
well, to be sure. But I was already so scarlet,
I could not become more so.

So, as I can do on great occasions, I
collected myself: and assuming a confidential and
sisterly air, said:

"I do think she wishes to be friendly, putting
Pet instead of Frances du Chaine."

"That is just it, Patty; exactly what I feel.
If she had desired to put me down altogether
—to snub me outright—she would not have
put Pet." And again the squire gave that
foolish little feminine chuckle. "I have great
hopes," he continued, "that she will dislike
her new duties. I have been in the neighbourhood,
and have made inquiries, and, from all I
can learn, the people she is going to are not at
all refined. They will not suit her ideas at
all; she is so essentially a lady—or a
gentlewoman is the word I like better."

Think of our shy, awkward, proud squire
talking in this fashion. I was beginning quite
to love him.

Certainly, as the squire said, her new duties
did not agree with her. She came to us to
spend her first holidays with a bad cold and
cough, and was very thin and white. But she
was as saucy as ever; and regarded the squire
and all his devoted attentions, as if she had
been a young princess, and he the page
appointed to run by her stirrup.

One day he asked to speak to me alone.

"Tell her, Patty," said he, "that I am going
away. I see my presence is irksome to her.
It is necessary that she should have rest and
quiet before she returns to governessing. I
think she will be happier, and will soon
regain her former strength and spirits, if she is
left only with you and Robert. Go and tell
her so. I shall try to make myself happy, with
the recollection of her thanks."

So good and unselfish of the squire!

I gave his message, with a little spice of my
own added.

I was delighted to see that she was more
astonished than pleased.

"Going away!" she exclaimed. "Why for?
I am not too teazed. I think not of him."

"Shall I tell him to stay, Pet?"

"No, no. You are of all Patties the most
naughty. I give no message; I say nothing; I
am as one who has not had the least of a message.
Why do he and me have messages? We are
free of each other."

She missed him. I was afraid to write
and tell him. Moreover, one day, when going
over the Hall, to which we had free
admittance and that without the surveillance of
any of the servants, if Pet did not throw
herself down upon one of the blue satin covered
chairs, on which I never dared to sit except
when I had on my best gown, and say:
"Ah, Patty, would you like to see fine lady?
Look at me. I know all the airs. I have in
me a doting of finery, and I love lace, and
pearls, and I have a wish to be gracious and
dignified. See this curtsey that I make you.
And if you were not much to my liking, I would
be haughty, thus."

The airs the child gave herself!

"Do not look at me so, my best Patty, all
eversomuch astonished. You are farmer's wife,
yet the prettiest lady and sweetest friend. Why
not little governess full of fine lady ways?
We like that best, sometimes, that is not ever
to be ours."

"Ever, child!" I exclaimed, significantly.

She blushed—positively blushed—and made
no answer.

"It appears to me, Patty," said Robert (that
evening totally unconscious of the effect of his
words), "that you provide your household with
food from the squire's larder, and not mine."

"I assure you, Robert, it is not my fault.
Moon came to me, and said he had orders to
bring me game every day; and Herrot, the
gardener, sends such heaps of fruit, I should be
quite at a loss to know what to do with it, but
that Pet lives on it, and it seems to do her so
much good."

That evening I had a serious talk with Pet.

"Child," said I, very severely, "you are a
very aggravating, provoking, good-for-nothing
sort of a thing. Why not love so good a man?
so respected, so excellent. I declare I love him,
almost as much as if he was Robert."

She flushed up, evidently pleased.

"But—but—yes—he is good—more—and he
is——"