"I am Miss Bee Goode, of Boston," said the child by the side of the woman, in a composed, distinct voice. Dobson looked at her; a slip of an eleven-year-old girl, pale-faced beside the rosy English children, and wearing the miniature woman's dress which was the fashion of the day--a green stuff gown, short-sleeved and cut low at the neck, with its waist-line under her arms, and a straight, narrow skirt. On her yellow curls she wore a very large straw bonnet trimmed with flowers, and tied under her chin with huge bows of ribbon. Long black lace mitts and a handbag of gay flowered chintz completed her costume. "She's Haslem all right--furren too, though," thought Dobson embarrassed by her unchildlike, shrewd, gray eyes. Then he said aloud, "I was to meet Mr. Vere, and Miss Beatrice Haslem, Miss." "I do not like my cousin Vere," said the child calmly, "and he stayed behind at Plymouth. Also my name is Goode, and unless you call me by it I will not go with you to see my grandfather." Dobson looked helpless, and a boy came forward from among the interested spectators of the little scene. He looked about fifteen, with a sturdy figure, and honest, good-tempered face. He wore a tall black silk hat, and a man's suit of bright blue cloth, the coat with long flapping tails and a very high stiff collar. "Dobson," he said, "I have the pony here, and if Miss Bee is willing I can drive her to the Towers, while you take her maid and the baggage. And Dobson, you needn't mention Mr. Vere not being here." Then turning to Bee he added formally, "I am Ned Edgar, at your service, Miss Bee, I think you may have heard of me." Ned had thought Bee very homely till he spoke to her; then he saw her eyes grow soft in an instant, and her cold little face flashed with smiles that made her fascinating, if not lovely. "Oh, I know your father," she exclaimed, "He is Mr. Edgar, fur-trader, of York in Upper Canada. I love him and Mrs. Edgar, your step-mother. I have lived with them since my mother died; and I was hoping to meet you when I came here." So Ned drove Bee through the narrow streets of the town, pointing out the old house in its big garden, where he lived with Dr. Brown, his dead mother's father. "He is a Friend," said Ned, "but as the Friends have no meeting house here we go to the Methodist chapel--that's it there--we call it Noah's Ark." "I know Mr. Edgar went to Canada when you were born and your mother died," said Bee. "But he never said you were a Methodist; he don't like them at all."