But these mysterious movements were all explained when, a moment after, some one came marching, to a tune of double-quick time, up the lane, and when he appeared on the main-street again, lo and behold! it was that same black-eyed urchin Hugh Willson, who had a few moments previous passed by her, and he called out, “Grace, Grace Germain, wait a moment; I want to tell you something!” Grace of course blushed, and looked sideways, and down, and finally at the boy, but for the life of her she could not summon up a look of astonishment at his appearance, finally she said, “Well, what do you want, Hugh?” “I’m going home, Grace, to-morrow, and—and—I wanted to see you just to give you this; perhaps you’ll think I’m a fool for my pains. I wish though it was worth its weight in gold!” Oh! you would have certainly thought that the poor girl’s face was on the point of blazing instantly, could you have seen it, and Hugh thought there were really tears in her eyes too, as she put out her hand for the little package he had brought her. For some distance they walked on together, and neither spoke. At length, as she drew near home, Grace found courage to look up and say, “Hugh, what are you going home for?” “Father has sent for me, I am to go to an academy, but—” Hugh did not finish the sentence, and after waiting an unconscionable time, and speaking at last as though a “drag” were fastened to every word, Grace said, “You will come to see us again sometime, wont you, Hugh?” “Yes, if I ever can. I can’t bear to go away now, Grace, but, as father says, I _am_ getting old. I’m almost fifteen, and it’s a fact I ought to know more than I do. Perhaps I’ve staid in the country too long already; but I hate a city, and I shall come back here just as often as I can, for I love this place better than all the world.” And that, reader, was rather a strange confession to be made by a spirit so active and stirring as was Hugh Willson’s, for of all country villages on the face of the earth, “Romulus” was certainly the dullest, and least attractive. “I’m coming down by here to-night, Grace,” said the lad, as he opened the gate for the child, “if you would like to see me, come out here—I cannot bid you good-bye now—will you be here?” “Yes, Hugh,” was the reply given sadly—and this time it was a great deal more than she could do to keep back or hide her tears—for Grace Germain thought Hugh Willson the handsomest and kindest boy she ever knew, and she could not bear to think of his going away. So she left him with little ceremony, and went into the house. And the boy saw her grief, and he could have wept also—he _loved_ Grace Germain! Well, what do you think made up that unpretending package—the parting gift? First and foremost, there was a little box, and it contained—not a gem, not a book, but—a fresh, beautiful rose-bud; and Grace did not laugh when she saw it, neither did she smile as she unwound the strip of paper from the stem, and read thereon,