"Your right?" cried Everett; he looked disturbed. Frere did not reply, but strode quickly down the village street. A dozen strides brought him up to Hetty's side. She was a beautiful girl, with a face and figure much above her station. Her hat was covered with wild flowers which she had picked in her walk, and coquettishly placed there. She wore a pink dress covered with rosebuds--some wild flowers were stuck into her belt. As Frere advanced to meet her, her laughing eyes were raised to his face--there was a curious mixture of timidity and audacity in their glance. "I have a word to say to you," he accosted her in a gruff tone. "What right had you to give Everett leave to call you Hetty?" The timidity immediately left the bright eyes, and a slight expression of anger took its place. "Because I like to distribute my favors, Mr. Horace." She quickened her pace as she spoke. Everett, who had been standing quite still in the porch watching the little scene, came out to meet the pair. Hetty flushed crimson when she saw him; she raised her dancing, charming dark eyes to his face, then looked again at Frere, who turned sullenly away. "I hope, gentlemen, you have had good sport," said the rustic beauty, in her demure voice. "Excellent," replied Everett. They had now reached the porch, which was entwined all over with honeysuckle in full flower. A great spray of the fragrant flower nearly touched the girl's charming face. She glanced again at Frere. He would not meet her eyes. Her whole face sparkled with the feminine love of teasing. "Why is he so jealous?" she whispered to herself. "It would be fun to punish him. I like him better than Mr. Everett, but I'll punish him." "Shall I give you a buttonhole?" she said, looking at Everett. "If you'll be so kind," he replied. She raised her eyes to the honeysuckle over her head, selected a spray with extreme care, and handed it to him demurely. He asked her to place it in his buttonhole; she looked again at Frere,--he would not go away, but neither would he bring himself to glance at her. She bent her head to search in the bodice of her dress for a pin, found one, and then with a laughing glance of her eyes into Everett's handsome face, complied with his request. The young fellow blushed with pleasure, then he glanced at Frere, and a feeling of compunction smote him--he strode abruptly into the house. "Hetty, what do you mean by this sort of thing?" said Frere the moment they were alone. "I mean this, Mr. Horace: I am still my own mistress." "Great Scot! of course you are; but what do you mean by this sort of trifling? It was only this morning that you told me you loved me. Look here, Hetty, I'm in no humor to be trifled with; I can't and won't stand it. I'll make you the best husband a girl ever had, but listen to me, I have the devil's own temper when it is roused. For God's sake don't provoke it. If you don't love me, say so, and let there be an end of it."