But he did not care. He admired ’Lena, and John Jr. like, it made but little difference with him who knew it. Carrie’s freaks, which he plainly saw, rather amused him than otherwise, but of Mrs. Livingstone he had no suspicion whatever. Consequently, when she sent ’Lena from the room on some trifling errand, herself appropriating the vacated seat, he saw in it no particular design, but in his usual pleasant way commenced talking with Carrie, who brightened up so much that grandma asked “if her headache wasn’t e’en-a’most well!” When ’Lena returned to the parlor, Durward was proposing a surprise visit to Nellie Douglass some time during the holidays. “We’ll invite Mr. Everett, and all go down. What do you say, girls?” said he, turning toward Carrie and Anna, but meaning ’Lena quite as much as either of them. “Capital,’ answered Anna, visions of a long ride with Malcolm instantly passing before her mind. “I should like it very much,” said Carrie, visions of a ride with Durward crossing her mind. “And I too,” said ’Lena, laying her hand on John Jr.’s shoulder, as if he would of course be her escort. Carrie’s ill-nature had not all vanished, and now, in a slightly insolent tone, she said, “How do you know you are included?” ’Lena was about to reply, when Durward, a little provoked at Carrie’s manner, prevented her by saying “Of course I meant Miss Rivers, and I will now do myself the honor of asking her to ride with me, either on horseback or in a carriage, just as she prefers.” In a very graceful manner ’Lena accepted the invitation saying that “she always preferred riding on horse back, but as the pony which she usually rode had recently been sold, she would be content to go in any other way.” “Fleetfoot sold! what’s that for?” asked Anna; and her mother replied, “We’ve about forty horses on our hands now, and as Fleetfoot was seldom used by any one except ’Lena, your father thought we couldn’t afford to keep him.” She did not dare tell the truth of the matter, and say that ever since the morning when ’Lena rode to Woodlawn with Durward, Fleetfoot’s fate had been decreed. Repeatedly had she urged the sale upon her husband, who, wearied with her importunity, at last consented, selling him to a neighboring planter, who had taken him away that very day. “That’s smart,” said John Jr. looking at his father, who had not spoken. “What is ’Lena going to ride, I should like to know.” ’Lena pressed his arm to keep him still, but he would not heed her. “Isn’t there plenty of feed for Fleetfoot?” “Certainly,” answered his father, compelled now to speak; “plenty of feed, but Fleetfoot was getting old and sometimes stumbled. Perhaps we’ll get ’Lena a better and younger horse.” This was said in a half timid way, which brought the tears to ’Lena’s eyes, for at the bottom of it all she saw her aunt, who sat looking into the glowing grate, apparently oblivious to all that was passing around her.