“Well, I donʼt know,” he answered, very gravely, “about your gaiters proving a Palladium against calumny. But one thing is certain, Eoa, your face will, to all who look at you. But why donʼt you ride, my dear child, if you must have such rapid exercise?” “Because they wonʼt let me get up the proper way on a horse. Me to sit cramped up between two horns, as if a horse was a cow! Me, who can stand on the back of a horse going at full gallop! But it doesnʼt matter now much. Nobody seems to like me for it.” She spoke in so wistful and sad a tone, and cast down her eyes so bashfully, that the old man, who loved her heartily, longed to know what the matter was. “Nobody likes you, Eoa! Why, everybody likes you. You are stealing everybodyʼs heart. My Amy would be quite jealous, only she likes you so much herself.” “I am sure, I have more cause to be jealous of her. Some people like me, I know, very much; but not the people I want to do it.” “Oh, then you donʼt want us to do it. What harm have we done, Eoa?” “You donʼt understand me at all, Uncle John. And perhaps you donʼt want to do it. And yet I did think that you ought to know, as the clergyman of the parish. But I never seem to have right ideas of anything in this country!” “Tell me, my dear,” said Mr. Rosedew, taking her hand, and speaking softly, for he saw two great tears stealing out from the dark shadow of her lashes, and rolling down the cheeks that had been so bright but a minute ago; “tell me, as if you were my own daughter, what vexes your pure heart so. Very likely I can help you, and I will promise to tell no one.” “Oh no, Uncle John, you never can help me. Nobody in the world can help me. But do you think that you ought to know?” “That depends upon the subject, my dear. Not if it is a family–secret, or otherwise out of my province. But if it is anything with which I have to deal, or which I understand——” “Oh yes, oh yes! Because you manage, you manage all—all the banns of matrimony.” This last word was whispered with such a sob of despairing tantalization, that John, although he was very sorry, could scarcely keep from laughing. “You need not laugh, Uncle John. You wouldnʼt if you were in my place, or could at all understand the facts of it. And as for its being a family–secret, ever so many people know it, and I donʼt care two pice who knows it now.” “Then let me know it, my child. Perhaps an old man can advise you.” The child of the East looked up at him, with a mist of softness moving through the brilliance of her eyes, and spake these unromantic words:— “It is that I do like Bob so; and he doesnʼt care one bit for me.” She looked at the parson, as much as to say, “What do you think of that, now? I am not at all ashamed of it.” And then she stooped for a primrose bud, and put it into his button–hole, and then she burst out crying. “Upon my word,” said John, “upon my word, this is too bad of you, Eoa.”