“If Archie were only here,” sighed Jeanie, “my happiness would be complete, and yours, too, wouldn’t it, Nancy?” “I am very content as it is,” Agnes told her. “Pray, Jeanie, don’t think of Archie’s ever being nearer to me than a friend. He is a dear good lad, but he will bring you a sister more worthy of his calling than I could be.” “He will bring me none that I would rather have,” returned Jeanie, stoutly, “and as for the worthiness, it is but experience you need, mother says. Ah, no, Nancy, I shall not give you up yet.” But Agnes’s thoughts were drifting off to the hillside and the sunset, and she suddenly sprang to her feet. “I cannot stay, Jeanie, I really cannot. I forgot that little Fergus is ailing, and that Polly is all tired out with her soap-making. I ought to go home, but I will come again and spend a night with you. I will come to-morrow, and then we can go to meeting together and I will be here on Monday all ready to begin the day’s work with you, for I can stay over Sabbath as well as not.” And with this arrangement Jeanie was so well pleased that she let her friend go without further protest. Agnes hurried along with a feeling that she must reach the hilltop before sundown, and true enough she was rewarded by a sight of a skiff drawn up on the sands, and she knew it to be Parker Willett’s. She hastened her steps and found that he had caught sight of her and that he was coming to meet her. “I am fortunate,” he said as he came up, “for I might have missed you.” “I came very near staying with Jeanie. You know she is to be married next week.” “So soon? Yes, I believe I did hear something of it. Where did I hear it? There are still some things which confuse this foolish brain of mine. Well, little girl, I have still much to thank you for.” He took her hands and shook them warmly. “I am very grateful. To think you took that risk for me!” “To think you took that risk for us! It was my grandfather’s will that made all the trouble; it had nothing to do with you personally.” “Yes, the will, and do you know, I am not able yet to remember whom it was that I gave the will to. It will all come back to me, Henry Flint says, and I am more and more sure that there was some reason why it was best to give it up. I am sure it will come to light, and that it was not stolen. My little box that held the miniatures, I regret that, for it is gone.” “Oh, no, it isn’t. I have it safe and sound,” and she told of the circumstances by which it came into her possession. “I am truly glad to hear that,” said Parker. “Will you keep the box for me, Agnes? I think it is safer in your hands than in mine, if I am so stupid about remembering what I do with things.” “You are not to blame for forgetting, and, yes, I will keep it gladly, and may I look at the miniatures sometimes?” “Would you like to? I am pleased that you should care to.”