In the under-sized, earnest, dark-haired and dark-eyed young man of three-and-twenty, Abigail Mitchenor at once felt a motherly interest. Having received him as a temporary member of the family, she considered him entitled to the same watchful care as if he were in reality an invalid son. The ice over an hereditary Quaker nature is but a thin crust, if one knows how to break it; and in Richard Hilton's case, it was already broken before his arrival. His only embarrassment, in fact, arose from the difficulty which he naturally experienced in adapting himself to the speech and address of the Mitchenor family. The greetings of old Eli, grave, yet kindly, of Abigail, quaintly familiar and tender, of Moses, cordial and slightly condescending, and finally of Asenath, simple and natural to a degree which impressed him like a new revelation in woman, at once indicated to him his position among them. His city manners, he felt, instinctively, must be unlearned, or at least laid aside for a time. Yet it was not easy for him to assume, at such short notice, those of his hosts. Happening to address Asenath as “Miss Mitchenor,” Eli turned to him with a rebuking face. “We do not use compliments, Richard,” said he; “my daughter's name is Asenath. “I beg pardon. I will try to accustom myself to your ways, since you have been so kind as to take me for a while,” apologized Richard Hilton. “Thee's under no obligation to us,” said Friend Mitchenor, in his strict sense of justice; “thee pays for what thee gets.” The finer feminine instinct of Abigail led her to interpose. “We'll not expect too much of thee, at first, Richard,” she remarked, with a kind expression of face, which had the effect of a smile: “but our ways are plain and easily learned. Thee knows, perhaps, that we're no respecters of persons.” It was some days, however, before the young man could overcome his natural hesitation at the familiarity implied by these new forms of speech. “Friend Mitchenor” and “Moses” were not difficult to learn, but it seemed a want of respect to address as “Abigail” a woman of such sweet and serene dignity as the mother, and he was fain to avoid either extreme by calling her, with her cheerful permission, “Aunt Mitchenor.” On the other hand, his own modest and unobtrusive nature soon won the confidence and cordial regard of the family. He occasionally busied himself in the garden, by way of exercise, or accompanied Moses to the corn-field or the woodland on the hill, but was careful never to interfere at inopportune times, and willing to learn silently, by the simple process of looking on. One afternoon, as he was idly sitting on the stone wall which separated the garden from the lane, Asenath, attired in a new gown of chocolate-colored calico, with a double-handled willow work-basket on her arm, issued from the house. As she approached him, she paused and said--