"Hush, my dear sir, the country is sickly; and----" she said, _sotto voce_, "He will not hear of father's going out after nightfall; and they have had several difficult cases, of late, demanding almost constant attendance." "Then, if you are willing, I will enter upon my duties as escort, to-morrow morning." "Oh! not so soon! you may have time to recover from your fatigue." "Fatigue! fudge! I could dance all night. Are you fond of riding, Miss Ross?" "I used to like it; I am sadly out of practice now." "A fault easily cured, if you are not timid." "Not she!" said Carry; "and want of practice notwithstanding, she is a better horsewoman than I." This was demonstrated in the course of the first ride; and both improved rapidly under the tuition of their self-constituted instructor. John returned to the city; Arthur's time was never at his own disposal; the care of the girls devolved entirely upon Charley. From the moment of his arrival, Ida studied him intently, and each hour brought difficulties, instead of elucidation. Easy and kind, always at their service; and performing the tasks assigned him, as if they were real pleasures, he was nothing of a "ladies' man;" eschewed gallant speeches, and consigned flatterers to the tender mercies of Mrs. Opie. She felt that he was affectionate, but would have been at a loss to produce proof thereof. He never let fall a syllable of endearment, yet Carry and the children read something in his face which said more. His tastes were cultivated, and his mind well-informed, but he set at naught the laws of conversational etiquette; his sayings had as marked a style as his features; a style, which those who did not know better, termed "droll," and those who did, dubbed "Charley's;" it was referable to no thing or person else. His candor was not his least remarkable trait. He was obstinately silent when appealed to for an opinion, or gave it rough-hewn; no rounding-off of sharp corners; no filling out here, or sloping in there, so as to fit neatly to another's. He made no distinctions of rank; pulled off his hat to the meanest field-hand, with as gentle courtesy as though he had been the President; and severed the thread of her most sprightly narrations, to thank the ragged urchin, who unfastened gates, or let down drawbars, in their desultory excursions. "He is one of the best of men," delivered Mammy, as foreman of the kitchen jury. Ida smiled at the harum-scarum figure, which arose in her mind, in opposition to the image of sanctity, Mammy's description should have summoned. "You do not do him justice, Ida," observed Carry. "My smile was not of unbelief, but amusement; I like him. There is a rich vein of quaint humor in his mind; and his unebbing spirits entitle him to the honors of the laughing philosopher." "He is more than that--"