Heathcote was sitting under a tree by the brook-side, as though he had never been anywhere else. "When did you come?" said Anne, looking down from her perch. "Fifteen minutes or so ago," he answered, looking up from his couch. "_Why_ did you come?" "To see you, of course." "No; I can not believe that. The day is too warm." "You, at any rate, look cool enough." "It is cool up here among the rocks; but it must be intense out on the high-road." "I did not come by the high-road." "How, then, did you come?" "Across the fields." "Why?" "Miss Douglas, were you born in New Hampshire? As I can not call all this information you require up hill, I shall be obliged to come up myself." As he rose, Anne saw that he was laden with her dinner basket and shawl, her plant case and trowel, and her straw hat and its contents, which he balanced with exaggerated care. "Oh, leave them all there," she called down, laughingly. But no, Heathcote would not; he preferred to bring them all with him. When he reached her rock, he gravely delivered them into her hands, and took a seat beside her, fanning himself with his hat. "And now, how does it happen that you are here?" repeated Anne, placing her possessions in different niches. "You insist? Why not let it pass for chance? No? Well, then, by horseback to Powell's: horse loses shoe; blacksmith's shop. Blacksmith talkative; second customer that morning; old coupé, fat old coachman, and fat brown horse, who also loses shoe. Coachman talkative; tells all about it; blacksmith tells _me_; young lady left at saw-mill to be taken up on return. I, being acquainted with said saw-mill and young lady, come across by lane through the fields. Find a dinner basket; look in; conclude to bring it on. Find a small tin coffin, and bring that too. Find a hat, ditto. Hat contains--" "Never mind," said Anne, laughing. "But where is your horse?" "Tied to a tree." "And what are you going to do?" "At present, nothing. By-and-by, if you will permit it, I _may_--smoke a cigar." "I have no idea what time it is," said Anne, after a pause, while Heathcote, finding a comfortable place with his back against the rocks, seemed disposed to enjoy one of his seasons of silence. He drew out his watch, and without looking at it held it toward her. "You need not tell; _I_ do not want to know," he said. "In spite of that, I feel it to be my duty to announce that it is nearly half past twelve; you may still reach home in time for lunch." "Thanks. I know what I shall have for lunch." "What?" "One small biscuit, three slices of cake, one long corpulent pickle, and an apple." "You have left nothing for me," said Anne, laughing over this disclosure of the contents of her basket. "On the contrary, I have brought you something," said Heathcote, gravely producing two potatoes uncooked, a pinch of salt in paper, and a quarter of a loaf of bread, from the pockets of his blue flannel coat.