Even though he had attained the respectable age of fifty-eight and had not long buried a most faithful and hard-working helpmate, the worthy farmer was conscious of a glow of admiration. Though the girl’s eyes were blue, the hair and brows were distinctly dark, and the complexion of the brunette order—a combination somewhat unusual and very striking. Her figure was, as has been said, tall and slight, yet with vigour as well as grace in every movement: she alighted on the ground as easily and as lightly as though she had been a bird. ‘Well done!’ ejaculated Fiander. ‘And what might your name be if it bain’t Stelling?’ ‘My name is Goldring,’ she replied a little haughtily. ‘Rosalie Goldring. My mother was Mr. Stelling’s daughter.’ ‘Well now,’ returned the farmer, smiling cheerfully, ‘Goldring! and that’s a pretty name too—partic’lar for a maid—a token I might say! Rosalie did you tell me, miss? I do mind a song as I used to hear when I were a boy about Rosalie the Prairie Flower.’ She had picked up her hat and stood gazing at him discontentedly. ‘I suppose everything is sold by this time?’ she said. ‘My dear grandfather’s mare, and the trap, and even my cocks and hens. Dear grandfather! he always used to tell me that everything in the whole place was to be mine when he died—and now they won’t so much as leave me the old rooster.’ ‘Poor maid!’ ejaculated Fiander, full of commiseration, and guiltily conscious of having bought that turnip-hoer a bargain. ‘’T is unfort’nate for ye, I’m sure. Did n’t your grandfather make no provision for ’ee?’ ‘Oh, it is n’t that I mind,’ retorted Rosalie quickly; ‘it’s seeing everything go. Everything that I love—all the live things that I knew and used to take care of—even my churn, and my cheese-presses—granfer used always to say I was wonderful about cheese-making—and the pails and pans out of my dairy—everything that I kept so nice and took such pride in. They’ll all go to strangers now—all scattered about, one here, one there. And to-morrow they’ll be selling the things out of the house. If they leave me the clothes I stand up in that’ll be all.’ She sobbed so pitifully and looked so forlorn that Fiander’s heart was positively wrung. ‘My word!’ he ejaculated, ‘I do ’low it’s hard—’t is that, ’t is cruel hard; what was ye thinkin’ o’ doin’, my dear? You’ll have some relations most like as ’ll be glad to take ye in?’ ‘I have n’t a relation in the world,’ returned Rosalie with another sob; ‘I had nobody but grandfather. If I had,’ she added quickly, ‘I don’t know that I should have gone to them—I don’t like to be beholden to anybody. I’ll earn my own bread, though I don’t know how I shall do it; grandfather could never bear the notion of my going to service.’ ‘Ah! and could n’t he?’ returned Fiander, deeply interested.