“That’s one of the signs.” “What’s a sign?--sign of what?” said Phil, affecting wonder not quite skilfully. “When ‘there’s only one young woman’ it’s a sign the young man who thinks so is likely to consider her the only one worth thinkin’ about.” “Oh, pshaw!” exclaimed Phil, attacking the wood-pile with great industry. “Easy, old boy; ’twasn’t the wood-pile that said it. Brace up your head; you’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Besides, your old father can see through the back of your head, anyhow: he’s been practisin’ at it ever since you were born.” Phil seated himself on the wood-pile, looked in the direction where his father was not, and said,-- “I like Lucia very much. She’s a new face; she’s different from the girls about here. She’s somebody new to talk to, and she can talk about something beside crops, and cows, and who is sick, and last Sunday’s sermon, and next month’s sewing-society. That’s all.” “Yes,” said the old man. “It doesn’t seem much, does it? Enough to have made millions of bad matches, though, and spoiled millions of good ones.” Phil was silent for a moment; then he said, with a laugh,-- “Father, I believe you’re as bad as old Mrs. Tripsey, whom mother’s always laughing at because she thinks a man’s in love if he sees her daughter home from prayer-meeting.” “P’r’aps so, my boy,--p’r’aps,--and maybe as bad as you, for every time there’s a bad thunder-storm you’re afraid the lightning’ll strike the barn. Do you know why? It’s because your finest colt is there. Do you see?” Phil did not reply, so the old man continued: “I’ll make it clearer to you. You’re my finest colt; there’s more lightnings in a girl’s eyes than I ever saw in the sky, you don’t know when it’s going to strike, and when it hits you you’re gone before you know it.” “Much obliged. I’ll see to it that I keep myself well insulated,” said Phil. Nevertheless, Phil studied Lucia whenever he had opportunity,--studied her face when she read, her fingers when they busied themselves with fancy work, her manner with different persons, as it changed according to her idea of the deservings of those with whom she talked. At church he regarded her intently from the beginning of the service to its end, analyzing such portions of prayer, hymn, or sermon as did not seem to meet her views. He even allowed his gaze to follow her when she looked more than an instant at other young women, in the ignorance of his masculine heart wondering which of the features of these damsels specially interested her; his mother could have told him that Lucia was merely looking at bonnets and other articles of attire, instead of at their wearers. He wondered what she thought; he told himself where her character was at fault, and how it might be improved. In short, he had ample mental leisure, and she was the newest and consequently the least understood of his various subjects of contemplation.