It was a bright, fresh morning, and John Temple enjoyed the walk. The waving mazes of uncut corn; the hedge-rows scented with the meadow-sweet; the cattle standing under the trees, made to his mind a pleasant picture. "After all, the country is charming," he said, raising his head as though more freely to inhale the air, and looking round at the green and fertile landscape. "Do you think you would not tire of it?" asked the old man by his side, lifting his sad eyes and looking steadfastly at his nephew's good-looking face. He was wondering what his life had been; how the last decade of his thirty years had passed. Not in riotous living he told himself, for John Temple's features bore no marks of dissipation nor sin. His eyes were clear and resolute, his whole bearing that of a man who had led at least a fairly good life. "He looks honest," thought the squire, and then he sighed, thinking of his dead boy, and all the fond hopes which lay buried in his untimely grave. "I might tire of it," answered John, smiling in reply to his uncle's question, "if I never had any change, for I think we all want change. It is human nature, part of our heritage, to desire it." Again the old man sighed. "You must marry now, John," he said, and as he spoke a flush rose to his nephew's face. "I think not," he answered. "You will think differently I hope, some day," continued the squire. "But here we are at Woodside; it is a pretty spot." It was indeed a pretty spot; a long, low, white house, standing amid a large old-fashioned garden, with trim box-borders, and fruit trees laden with their ripening crops. They approached the house from the front, but at the rear the squire pointed out with some pardonable pride the new and expensive outbuildings. "I wish every farm on the property was in such good order," he said. "But we will go into the garden, and I dare say will find the farmer somewhere about, or perhaps his daughter can tell us where he is." As he spoke the squire opened the garden gate and passed down the walks, accompanied by John Temple and followed by two dogs. A little summer house stood on the path, and a moment later a pretty scrimmage ensued. A very handsome gray kitten was disporting itself at the entrance of the summer house, and at the sight of the avowed enemies of its race, the kitten prepared for battle. With tail erected and every hair on end, it stood to receive the charge it evidently expected. The dogs saw it, and with vicious yells ran forward, and the brave kitten's moments had been numbered had not its mistress with a cry sprang forward from the interior of the summer house and caught it to her breast. The squire and John called back the dogs; the Mayflower protected her kitten, and then stood smiling and blushing to receive her visitors at the entrance of the summer house. "Oh, Mr. Temple, your dogs frightened me so!" she said, as the squire offered her his hand.