The doctor did not know why he dragged that last in, when it had nothing whatever to do with their conversation; but as the most trivial thing often leads to great results, so from the pang caused by Maddy’s thinking him so old, was born the first real consciousness he had ever had that the little girl beside him was very dear, and that the twelve years’ difference between them might prove a most impassable gulf. With this feeling, it was exceedingly painful for him to hear Maddy’s sudden exclamation: “Oh, oh! over twenty-five years—that’s dreadful! She must be glad he’s dead. I could never marry a man more than five years older than I am.” “Not if you loved him, and he loved you very, very dearly?” the doctor asked, his voice low and tender in its tone. Wholly unsuspicious of the wild storm beating in his heart, Maddy untied her white sun-bonnet, and, taking it in her lap, smoothed back her soft hair, saying with a long breath: “Oh! I’m so hot;” and then, as if just remembering his question, she replied: “I shouldn’t love him—I couldn’t. Grandma is five years younger than grandpa, mother was five years younger than father, Mrs. Green is five years younger than Mr. Green, and, oh! ever so many. You are warm, too; ain’t you?” and she turned her innocent eyes full upon the doctor, who was wiping from his lips the great drops of water, induced not so much by heat as by the apparent hopelessness of the love he now knew was growing in his heart for Maddy Clyde. Recurring again to Agnes, Maddy said: “I wonder why she married that old man. It is worse than if you were to marry Jessie.” “Money and position were the attractions, I imagine,” the doctor said. “Agnes was poor, and esteemed it a great honor to be made Mrs. Remington.” “Poor, was she?” Maddy rejoined. “Then maybe Mr. Guy will some day marry a poor girl.” Again the doctor thought to tell her of Lucy Atherstone, but he did not, and as he saw that Maddy was growing tired and needed to be at home, he turned his horse in the direction of the cottage. “Perhaps you’ll sometimes change your mind about people so much older, and if you do you’ll remember our talk this morning,” he said, as he drove up at last before the gate. Oh, yes! Maddy would never forget that morning or the nice ride they’d had. She had enjoyed it so much, and she thanked him many times for his kindness, as she stood waiting for him to drive away, feeling no tremor whatever when at parting he took and held her hand, smoothing it gently, and telling her it was growing fat and plump again. He was a very nice doctor, much better than she had imagined, she thought, as she went slowly to the house and entered the neat kitchen, where her grandmother sat shelling peas for dinner, and her grandfather in his arm-chair was whispering over his weekly paper. “Did you meet a grand lady in a carriage?” grandma asked, as Maddy sat down beside her.