Carrying the bowls and Fergus Kennedy’s hoe, Archie strode along by the side of the two, Agnes secretly admiring his fine appearance, though she did not intend to let him know it. He, meanwhile, thought no one could look as pretty as Agnes; her soft auburn hair curled around her neck, and though she was rosy from sunburn and a crop of little freckles freely besprinkled her nose and cheeks, her forehead was purely white, and her throat, too. She carried her sunbonnet in her hand, and her feet, scratched and brown, were minus shoes and stockings. In the cold weather she had her shoepacks and moccasins, but now in the summer she must go barefooted like the rest of her friends. She was thankful that she was wearing, at the time their first cabin was burned, the only pair of shoes she had brought from home. These were saved for great occasions, and she thought of them with satisfaction, as she remembered that she could wear them to church the next day. “There is a newcomer in the neighborhood,” Archie told them all at the table, between his mouthfuls of mush and milk--“gape and swallow,” Polly called it. “And who is the stranger?” Agnes asked. “A young man, David Campbell.” “And what is he like? Where has he come from? Where will he settle?” “Hear the lass’s questions,” laughed Polly. “Ye’ll be takin’ them wan be wan, Archie. Firstly, what is he like? Under this head come his features, his hair and eyes--” Agnes shook her head. “Ah, but Polly, you are almost sacreleegious with your firstly and your heads.” “I? Not a mite. Can no one but a meenister be sayin’ firstly and secondly, and so on up to seventhly?” “Don’t bother with her, Archie; go on and tell us. I’m curious to know.” “As if that needed tellin’,” continued Polly, bent on teasing. Archie’s grave smile was his only reply to Polly’s words, then he went on to say: “He’s no so tall, but broad shouldered; sandy hair and blue eyes he has. He’s rather a quiet-spoken man, but energetic, and seeming honest and weel intentioned.” “Ah!” Agnes was suddenly thoughtful. Presently she laughed outright. “Has Jeanie seen him?” “Yes, he was twice over in the past week. He’s thinking of settling down the other side of Gilfillan’s.” “Has he a wife to follow him?” “No; he’s but himself.” “Ah!” Polly was disappointed. “Then there’ll be no housewarming.” “Not yet. He’ll put up a bit of a shanty for shelter and do better later on.” “I’m that anxious to see him,” Agnes said. “I’ve a reason for it. Ah, but, I’ll be glad to see Jeanie to-morrow.” Her eyes danced and the dimples played around the corners of her mouth as she spoke. “Tell me what’s your consate, dear,” said Polly, coaxingly. “Ye’ve something that’s a sacret.”