Some one was whistling out there in the open. Whistling a lively, rollicking air, with a note as clear and strong as a bird's. Horror! The workmen must have come! Margaret was down on the grass in an instant, pulling desperately at her shoes and stockings. From the panic she was in, one might have thought that the woods were full of whistling brigands, all rushing in her direction, with murder in their hearts. She could hardly see; there was a knot in her shoe-string; why did she ever have shoes that tied? Her heart was beating, the blood throbbing in her ears,--and all the time the whistling went on, not coming nearer, but trilling away in perfect cheerfulness, though broken now and then, and coming in fits and starts. At last! At last the shoes were tied, and Margaret stood up, still panting and crimson, but feeling that she could face a robber, or even an innocent workman, without being disgraced for life. Cautiously she stole to the edge of the wood, and peeped between the pine-boles. The sun lay full on the peat bog, and it shone like a great, sunny emerald, friendly and smiling, with no hint of the black treachery at its heart. No hint? But look! Out in the very middle of the bog a figure was standing, balanced on a tussock of firm earth. A light, active figure, in blue jean jumper and overalls. One of the workmen, who did not know of the peril, and was plunging to his destruction? Margaret opened her lips to cry aloud, but kept silence, for the next moment she comprehended that the young man (he was evidently young, though his back was turned to her) knew well enough what he was about. He had a long pole in his hand, and with this he was poking and prodding about in the black depths beneath him. Now he sounded carefully a little way ahead of him, and then, placing his pole carefully on another firm spot, leaped to it lightly. The black bog water gurgled up about his feet, but he did not sink, only planted his feet more firmly, and went on with his sounding. Now he was singing. What was he singing? What a quaint, funny air! "A wealthy young farmer of Plymouth, we hear, He courted a nobleman's daughter, so dear; And for to be married it was their intent,--