If I have not said much about Manuel, it is because there is not very much to say. He was a handsome lad, and a merry one. His laziness did not show much till after Grandfather’s death, for he feared and loved the old man, and did his best to please him. How he should have made the effort to cross the Continent in search of Grandmother was one of the things that could not be understood. It was like a fire of straw, as Mrs. Peace said; it burned up bright, but there were no coals left. Mrs. Peace had little patience with Manuel. He had been boarding with her now for two years, and had never once, so she said, wiped his feet as they should be wiped when he came into the house. Also she pronounced him lazy, shiftless, careless, and selfish. “If he marries Rachel,” she said, “there’ll be a pair of ’em, and a precious pair, too. I’m going to give him a piece of my mind before I sleep to-night.” “That’s a real pretty skirt of Rachel’s, mother,” said Anne. “Don’t you want I should stroke the gathers?” “You may stroke the gathers, Anne, but you can’t stroke me,” said her mother gently. “I tell you I am going to give that fellow a piece of my mind. Yes, it is a pretty dress, and it’s the third Rachel Merion has had this spring, and if you’ll tell me when Grandmother has had a new dress, I’ll give you the next ninepence that’s coined.” “Grandmother always looks like a picture, I’m sure,” said Anne. “I’ve no special patience with Grandmother,” said Mrs. Peace, “nor yet with you, Anne Peace. If the Lord had meant for us to be angels here, it’s likely he would have provided us with wings and robes, ’cordin’ to. When I see an angel in a calico dress goin’ round askin’ folks won’t they please wipe their feet on her and save their carpets, I want to shake her.” “Shake Grandmother?” said Anne, opening great eyes of reproach. “There’s Manuel now!” said Widow Peace. “You might take this waist home to Mis’ Wyman, if you’ve a mind to, Anne.” It is not known precisely what Mrs. Peace said to Manuel Santos. Anne, on her return from Mrs. Wyman’s, met him coming out, in a white flame of rage. He glared at her, and muttered something under his breath, but made no articulate reply. “Chatterin’ mad, he was!” Mrs. Peace said calmly, in answer to Anne’s anxious questions. “Fairly chatterin’ mad. I don’t know, Anne, whether I’ve done harm or good, but something had to be done, and there’s times when harm is better than nothing.” “Why, Mother Peace!” exclaimed Anne, aghast. “How you talk!” “It don’t sound pretty, does it?” said the widow; “but I believe it’s a fact. Something will happen now, you see if it don’t.” Something did happen. Manuel, still white and inarticulate with rage, met Rachel in the garden, on his way to the house; Rachel in her red dress, with scarlet poppies in her hair and hands. She was waiting for him, perhaps; certainly, at sight of him, the color and light flashed into her face in a way that might have moved a stronger man than Manuel.