With a loud laugh Durward proposed that they should now return home, and again mounting their horses, they started for Maple Grove, which they reached just after the family had finished breakfast. With the first ring of the bell, John Jr., eager not to lose an iota of what might occur, was at the table, and when his mother and Carrie, anxious at the non-appearance of Durward and ’Lena, cast wistful glances toward each other, he very indifferently asked Mrs. Graham “if her son had returned from his ride.” “I’ve not seen him,” answered the lady, her scowl deepening and her lower jaw dropping slightly, as it usually did when she was ill at ease. “Who’s gone to ride?” asked Mr. Graham; and John Jr. replied that Durward and ’Lena had been riding nearly two hours, adding, that “they must find each other exceedingly interesting to be gone so long.” This last was for the express benefit of his mother, whose frown kept company with Mrs. Graham’s scowl. Chopping her steak into mince-meat, and almost biting a piece from her cup as she sipped her coffee, she at last found voice to ask, “what horse ’Lena rode!” “Fleetfoot, of course,” said John Jr., at the same time telling his father he thought “he ought to give ’Lena a pony of her own, for she was accounted the best rider in the county, and Fleetfoot was getting old and clumsy.” The moment breakfast was over, Mrs. Livingstone went in quest of Cæsar, whom she abused for disobeying her orders, threatening him with the calaboose, and anything else which came to her mind. Old Cæsar was taken by surprise, and being rather slow of speech, was trying to think of something to say, when John Jr., who had followed his mother, came to his aid, saying that “he himself had sent Bill for Fleetfoot,” and adding aside to his mother, that “the next time she and Cad were plotting mischief he’d advise them to see who was in the back parlor!” Always ready to suspect ’Lena of evil, Mrs. Livingstone immediately supposed it was she who had listened; but before she could frame a reply, John Jr. walked off, leaving her undecided whether to cowhide Cæsar, ’Lena, or her son, the first of whom, taking advantage of the pause followed the example of his young master and stole away. The tramp of horses’ feet was now heard, and Mrs. Livingstone, mentally resolving that Fleetfoot should be sold, repaired to the door in time to see Durward carefully lift ’Lena from her pony and place her upon the ground. Mrs. Graham, Carrie, and Annie were all standing upon the piazza, and as ’Lena came up the walk, her eyes sparkling and her bright face glowing with exercise, Anna exclaimed, “Isn’t she beautiful?” at the same time asking her “where she had been.” “To Woodlawn,” answered ’Lena. “To Woodlawn!” repeated Mrs. Graham. “To Woodlawn!” echoed Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie brought up the rear by exclaiming, “To Woodlawn! pray what took you there?” “The pony,” answered ’Lena, as she passed into the house.