“He might have stopped the horse while he was about it,” growled the fellow, picking up his own reins again. “Now I'll have to ride after it.” “You'd better,” said the little lady, sharply. “If father knew that horse had run away with me he would be dreadfully put out. You hurry after him, Peter.” The lout never said a word in reply, but his horse carried him swiftly out of sight in the wake of the runaway. Then the girl turned again to Hiram and the young farmer knew that he was being keenly examined by her bright black eyes. “I am very sure father will not keep him,” declared the girl, looking at Hiram thoughtfully. “He is too careless--and I don't like him, anyway. Do you live around here?” “I expect to,” replied Hiram, smiling. “I have just come. I am going to stay at this next house, along the road.” “Oh! where the old gentleman died last week?” “Yes. Mrs. Atterson was left the place by her uncle, and I am going to run it for her.” “Oh, dear! then you've got a place to work?” queried the little lady, with plain disappointment in her tone. “I am sure father would like to have you instead of Peter.” But Hiram shook his head slowly, though still smiling, “I'm obliged to you,” he said; “but I have agreed to stop with Mrs. Atterson for a time.” “I want father to meet you just the same,” she declared. She had a way about her that impressed Hiram with the idea that she seldom failed in getting what she wanted. If she was not a spoiled child, she certainly was a very much indulged one. But she was pretty! Dark, petite, with a brilliant smile, flashing eyes, and a riot of blue-black curls, she was verily the daintiest and prettiest little creature the young farmer had ever seen. “I am Lettie Bronson,” she said, frankly. “I live down the road toward Scoville. We have only just come here.” “I know where you live,” said Hiram, smiling and nodding. “You must come and see us. I want you to know father. He's the very nicest man there is, I think.” “He came all the way East here so as to live near my school--I go to the St. Beris school in Scoville. It's awfully nice, and the girls are very fashionable; but I'd be too lonely to live if daddy wasn't right near me all the time. “What is your name?” she asked suddenly. Hiram told her. “Why! that's a regular farmer's name, isn't it--Hiram?” and she laughed--a clear and sweet sound, that made an inquisitive squirrel that had been watching them scamper away to his hollow, chattering. “I don't know about that,” returned the young farmer, shaking his head and smiling. “I ought by good rights to be 'a worker in brass', according to the Bible. That was the trade of Hiram, of the tribe of Naphtali, who came out of Tyre to make all the brass work for Solomon's temple.” “Oh! and there was a King Hiram, of Tyre, too, wasn't there,” cried Lettie, laughing. “You might be a king, you know.”