"Ah. I think one ought to be glad. And I wasn't glad when he kissed me." Her face was scarlet now, her bosom heaving with indignation, her eyes full of protest. "He will make a nice husband. His father is devoted to his mother. He has learned what a true and tender love really is." "Mother, would you like me to marry?" She knelt down at her mother's knee. "Oh, my dear, not until you love some one;" and she kissed her fondly. "Do you think there was ever a girl who could not love in that way?" "I should be sorry for her; love is the sweetest thing in life, the best gift of the good Lord is a good husband." Autumn was coming on slowly. Housewives were making preparations for winter. Daffodil was cheery and helpful. Grandmere was not as well as usual. She said she was growing old. There was a great deal of outside business for the men. Pittsburg was a borough town, and its citizens were considering various industries. Every day almost, new things came to the fore, and now they were trying some experiments in making glass. The country round was rich in minerals. Boat-building required larger accommodations. The post road had been improved, straightened, the distance shortened. There were sundry alterations in looms, and homespun cloth was made of a better quality. Daffodil Carrick watched some of the lovers, who came under her notice. She met Lieutenant Langdale occasionally, and they were outwardly friends. They even danced together, but her very frankness and honesty kept up the barrier between them. He tried to make her jealous, but it never quickened a pulse within her. Yet in a curious way she was speculating on the master passion. There were not many books to distract her attention, but one day there came a package from her guardian that contained a few of the old rather stilted novels, and some volumes of poems by the older English poets, dainty little songs that her mother sung, and love verses to this one or that one, names as odd as hers. And how they seemed to love Daisies and Daffodils. She took them out with her on her walks, and read them aloud to the woods, and the birds, or sometimes sang them. Jeffrey Andsdell found a wood nymph one day and listened. He had met her twice since the evening at Mrs. Forbes'. And he wondered now whether he should surprise her or go his way. She rose presently, and by a sudden turn surprised him. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I have been listening, enchanted. First I could not imagine whether it was some wandering fay or wood nymph wild." "Oh, do I look very wild?" with a most charming smile. "Why"--he colored a little--"perhaps the word may have more than one meaning. Oh, you look as if you were part of the forest, a sprite or fairy being." "Oh, do you believe in them? I sit here sometimes and call them up. There was an odd volume sent me awhile ago, a play by Shakespere, 'Midsummer Night's Dream,' and it is full of those little mischievous elves and dainty darlings."