At Mrs. Fleming’s he had also been treated like a prince, but there it was lame Agnes who served, with her sleeves rolled up, and Josephine had acted the part of the fine lady, and never to his recollection had she soiled her hands with household work of any kind. How soft and white they were,—while Rossie’s hands were thin and tanned from exposure to the sun, and stained and scratched, with a rag around one thumb which a cruel thorn had torn; but what deft, nimble hands they were, nevertheless, and how gladly they waited upon this tired, indolent young man, who took it as a matter of course, for had not Rossie Hastings ministered to him since she was old enough to hunt up his missing cap, and bring him the book he was reading. Now, as she flitted about, urging him to eat, she talked to him incessantly, asking if he had received her letter and its contents safely,—if it was very pleasant at Ellicottville with his friend Stafford, and if,—she did not finish that question, but her large black eyes, clear as crystal, looked anxiously at him, and he knew what she meant. “No, Rossie,” he said, laughingly, “I do not owe a dollar to anybody, except your dear little self, and that I mean to pay with compound interest; and I haven’t been in a single scrape,—that is, not a very bad one, since I went back;” and a flush crept to the roots of his hair as he wondered what Rosamond would think if she knew just the scrape he was in. And why should she not know? Why didn’t he tell her, and have her help him keep the secret tormenting him so sorely? He knew he could trust her, for he had done so many a time and she had not betrayed him, but stood bravely between him and his irascible father, who, forgetting that he once was young, was sometimes hard and severe with his wayward son. Yes, he would tell Rossie, and so make a friend for Josephine, but before he had decided how to begin, Rosamond said: “I’m so glad you are doing better, for——” here she hesitated and colored painfully, while Everard said: “Well, go on. What is it? Do you mean the governor rides a high horse on account of my misdemeanors?” “Yes, Mr. Everard, just that. He is dreadful when you write for more money, which he says you squander on cigars, and fast horses, and fine clothes, and _girls_; he actually said girls, but my,—your mother told him she knew you were not the kind of person to think of girls, and you so young; absurd!” And Rossie pursed up her little mouth as if it were a perfectly preposterous idea for Everard Forrest to be thinking of the girls! The young man laughed a low, musical laugh, and replied, “I don’t know about that. I should say it was just in my line. There are ever so many pretty girls in Ellicottville and Holburton, and one of them is so very beautiful that I’m half tempted to run away with and marry her. What would you think of that, Rossie?” For a moment the matter-of-fact Rossie looked at him curiously, and then replied: