He seated himself, with a little sigh, and opened the napkin on the ground before him. Miss Newell stood leaning against a rock on the opposite side of the brook, regarding the young man with a shy and smiling curiosity. “Meals,” he continued, “are a reckless tribute to the weakness of the flesh we all engage in three times a day at the boarding-house; a man must eat, you know, if he expects to live. Have you ever tried any of Mrs. Bondy's fare, Miss Newell?” “I'm sure Mrs. Bondy tries to have everything very nice,” the young girl replied, with some embarrassment. “Of course she does; she is a very good old girl. I think a great deal of Mrs. Bondy; but when she asks me if I have enjoyed my dinner, I always make a point of telling her the truth; she respects me for it. This is her idea of sponge cake, you see.” He held up admiringly a damp slab of some compact pale-yellow substance, with crumbs of bread adhering to one side. “It is a little mashed, but otherwise a fair specimen.” Miss Frances laughed. “Mr. Arnold, I think you are too bad. How can she help it, with those dreadful Chinamen? But I would really advise you not to eat that cake; it doesn't look wholesome.” “Oh, as to that, I've never observed any difference; one thing is about as wholesome as another. Did you ever eat bacon fried by China Sam? The sandwiches were made of that. You see I still live.” The sponge cake was rapidly disappearing. “Miss Newell, you look at me as if I were making away with myself, instead of the cake,--will you appear at the inquest?” “No, I will not testify to anything so unromantic; besides, it might be inconvenient for Mrs. Bondy's cook.” She put on her hat, and stepped along the stones towards the entrance to the glen. “You are not going to refuse me the last offices?” “I am going to look for Nicky Dyer. He came with me to show me the spring, and now he has gone to hunt for his cow.” “And you are going to hunt for him? I hope you won't try it, Miss Frances: a boy on the track of a cow is a very uncertain object in life. Let me call him, if you really must have him.” “Oh, don't trouble yourself. I suppose he will come after a while. I said I would wait for him here.” “Then permit me to say that I think you had better do as you promised.” Miss Frances recrossed the stones, and seated herself, with a faint deprecatory smile. “I hope you don't mind if I stay,” Arnold said, moving some loose stones to make her seat more comfortable. “You have the prior right to-day, but this is an old haunt of mine. I feel as if I were doing the honors; and to tell you the truth, I am rather used up. The new workings are very hot and the drifts are low. It's a combination of steam-bath and hoeing corn.” The girl's face cleared, as she looked at him. His thin cheek was pale under the tan, and where his hat was pushed back the hair clung in damp points to his forehead and temples.