Lucy was watching for his return; and as soon as she saw the well-known team rise the hill, she flew swiftly along the road to meet it. Her father held up the letter. Ah! what a bright, happy face was hers, as she caught it from his hand; and seating herself under a shady tree by the road-side, she eagerly tore off the envelope, and pressed the insensible chirography to her lips. “Hum!—what does this mean!” again thought the farmer, eyeing Lucy keenly. “Gee-haw, Darby—Gee-up, Dick!” he cried, sweeping his cart-whip above the sleek hides of his oxen, yet all the time noting uneasily the bright blush, the happy smile of Lucy, all absorbed as she was in the contents of her letter. In less than a week there came another. “Hum!” said Mr. Leyton, putting it in his pocket, “I must see what this means.” He went home, foddered the cattle, and then walked into the house. “Come here Lu, sit down by me.” Lucy laid aside her work, and drawing a low foot-stool to the side of her father, folded her dimpled hands upon his knees, and looked up smiling into his face. “Well, Lu, you had a nice time, didn’t you, at Mrs. Tracy’s?” said Mr. Leyton, smoothing back the long, golden curls from her white upturned brow. “Indeed I did, my dear father. I am sure, although I was so anxious to see you, I was sorry to come away.” “Hum! Mrs. Tracy used to keep you pretty strict, I suppose—never let you go out, did she?” “O yes, we walked every day—an hour in the morning, and an hour after school at night; it was very pleasant, sometimes Mrs. Tracy would go with us, and sometimes—O, it was _so_ pleasant!” and Lucy heaved a sigh as she concluded. “I take it for granted you never saw any boys there, Lu, did you?” Lucy blushed, and wondered what in the world possessed her father to talk so; at last she answered, very demurely: “Why, father, it was a school for girls you know; it would have been very strange, I am sure, to have seen a set of rude boys in our pleasant school-room.” “That is not what I mean, you little puss you—did any young men ever visit at Mrs. Tracy’s?” “Mercy, no, Mrs. Tracy would not even let Edward invite—” “Edward—who is Edward?” “Mrs. Tracy’s nephew, father,” replied Lucy, stooping to tie her little slipper, which just at that particular moment it seemed necessary for her to attend to. “Hum—and I suppose Edward walked with you, didn’t he?” said Mr. Leyton. “Yes, father, when Mrs. Tracy could not go.” “I thought so. Who is he? What is he? What is his name—this Edward?” Poor Lucy, how she tried not to blush, and yet what a glow instantly suffused the tell-tale countenance she averted from the scrutinizing glance of her father. “His name is Bartine—Edward Bartine—he is a very fine young man, father—every body loves him.” “Hum!” “All the girls loved him, just like a brother.” “And you loved him just like a brother, I suppose.” “Sir.” “Hum—well go on—what was this very fine young man doing at a young ladies’ boarding-school?”