“Yes, certainly, Guy, if she is; but maybe she won’t be, and my orders are, to be strict—very strict at first, and cut one or two. You have no idea what a row the town is in.” “How did the girl look?” Guy asked, and the doctor replied: “Saw nothing but her bonnet and a blue ribbon. Came in a queer old go-giggle of a wagon, such as your country farmers drive. There was an old man with her in a camlet cloak. Guess she won’t be likely to impress either of us, particularly as I am bullet-proof, and you have been engaged for years. By the way, when do you cross the sea again for the fair Lucy? Rumor says, this summer.” “Rumor is wrong, as usual, then,” was Guy’s reply, a soft light stealing into his handsome eyes. Then, after a moment, he added: “Miss Atherstone’s health is far too delicate for her to incur the risk of a climate like ours. If she were here I should be glad, for it is terribly lonely up at Aikenside, and I must stay there, you know. It would be a shame to let the place run down.” “And do you really think a wife would make it pleasanter?” Dr. Holbrook asked, the tone of his voice indicating a little doubt as to a man’s being happier for having a helpmate to share his joys and sorrows. But no such doubts dwelt in the mind of Guy Remington. Eminently fitted for domestic happiness, he looked forward anxiously to the time when Lucy Atherstone, the fair English girl to whom he had become engaged when he visited Europe, four years ago, should be strong enough to bear transplanting to American soil. Twice since his engagement he had visited her, finding her always loving and sweet, but never quite ready to come with him to his home in America. He must wait a little longer; and he was waiting, satisfied that the girl was worth the sacrifice, as indeed she was, for a fairer, sweeter flower never bloomed than Lucy Atherstone, his affianced bride. Guy loved to think of her, and as the doctor’s remarks brought her to his mind, he went off into a reverie concerning her, becoming so lost in thought, that until the doctor’s hand was laid upon his shoulder, by way of rousing him, he did not see that what his friend had designated as a _go-giggle_ was stopping in front of the office, and that from it a young lady was alighting. Naturally polite, Guy’s first impulse was to go to her assistance, but she did not need it, as was proven by the light spring with which she reached the ground. The white-haired man was with her again, but he evidently did not intend to stop, and a close observer might have detected a shade of sadness and anxiety upon his face as Madeline called cheerily out to him, “Good-bye, grandpa. Don’t fear for me, and I hope you will have good luck;” then, as he drove away, she ran a step after him and said, “Don’t look so sorry, please, for if Mr. Remington won’t let you have the money, there’s my pony, Beauty. I am willing to give him up.”