“No, about--about what you said.” He nodded, and Agnes knew the secret was safe. “Well, well, why didn’t you come before?” asked Jeanie, when Agnes was within hearing. “I couldn’t; I had company.” “Why didn’t you bring the company? They would have been very welcome.” “No, he wouldn’t.” Agnes shook her head decidedly. “Why, Nancy Kennedy, you know he would.” “I know he wouldn’t.” “What was his name?” “Mr. Wolf.” Jeanie looked puzzled. “I never heard of him. Is he an old friend? Did he come from Carlisle?” “No, he did live near here.” “Doesn’t he now?” “No, he’s dead.” Agnes laughed. “I never heard of such a thing. What are you talking about? Mother, you never heard such talk. Come here and make Nancy tell us what she means.” Agnes laughed at Jeanie’s vehemence; then she sobered down. “It was no laughing matter, I can tell you, and but for Archie I might not be here now.” And she proceeded to tell the tale of her day’s imprisonment. “Why, you must be half starved!” exclaimed Mrs. M’Clean. “No; the wolf left me a piece of johnny-cake and I drank some new milk, then we found some late blackberries as we came along.” “Well, you will be glad of a good bowl of hominy. Come in. Father’ll not be back yet. Here comes Archie with the milk-pails.” After her long day of solitude it was good, Agnes thought, to get among her friends, and she chattered away like a magpie, yet she was conscious of Archie’s gaze fixed upon her, and she felt uncomfortable, wishing he had left their free comradeship as it stood. “I am a little girl still. I want to be a little girl,” she announced suddenly, “and I don’t believe I will go to the housewarming.” “Nancy Kennedy! Why not?” exclaimed Jeanie. “There will be other girls there no older than you. There is Susan Duncan and Flora Magruder, and even little Meg Donaldson is going.” “I know--but--” “No buts about it. What a whimsey! Of course you’ll go. There will be good sport, and no end of feasting. I don’t see how you can think of staying at home.” She was so persistent that finally Agnes acknowledged that it was but a sudden whim, and that she really wanted to go. It was a homely, but jolly, little company which gathered in the new log-cabin of John McCormick to celebrate the housewarming. The rough pioneers in their hunting-shirts, leather breeches, and moccasins were a manly set of fellows; while the girls in linsey-woolsey petticoats, with linen bedgowns, a handkerchief folded across the breast, their feet shod in coarse shoepacks, were fit companions for the sturdy brothers, husbands, and fathers, who outnumbered them. Agnes, being one of the few who had recently come from a more civilized neighborhood, could boast better shoes and a finer kerchief. She was shy, however, and kept close to Polly O’Neill, until that lively body joined some gossiping friends, and then Agnes slipped off to a corner where Jeanie joined her, and together they watched the scene.