Lawrence Thornton did not know that the far-famed “starry eyes” of sweet Mildred Howell had wept bitter tears ere she consented to do her father’s bidding and wed a man many years her senior, and whose only daughter was exactly her own age; neither did he know how from the day she wore her bridal robes, looking a very queen, she had commenced to fade,—for Autumn and May did not go well together, even though the former were gilded all over with gold. He only had a faint remembrance that she was to him a playmate rather than a mother, and that she seemed to love to have him kiss her and caress her fair round cheek far better than his father. So he told this last to Mildred, and told her, too, how his father and Judge Howell both had cried when they stood together by her coffin. “And Richard,” said Mildred,—“was Richard there?” Lawrence did not know, for he was scarcely four years old when his step-mother died. “But I have seen Richard Howell,” he said; “I saw him just before he went away. He came to Boston to see Cousin Geraldine, I guess, for I’ve heard since that Judge Howell wanted him to marry her when she got big enough. She was only thirteen then, but that’s a way the Howells and Thorntons have of marrying folks a great deal older than themselves. You don’t catch me at any such thing, though. How old are you, Mildred?” Lawrence Thornton hadn’t the slightest motive in asking this question, neither did he wait to have it answered; for, observing that the sun was really getting very low in the heavens, he arose, and, telling Mildred that dinner would be waiting for him at Beechwood, where he was now spending a few days, he bade her good-by, and walked rapidly away. As far as she could see him Mildred followed him with her eyes, and when, at last, a turn in the winding path hid him from her view, she resumed her seat upon the twisted roots and cried, for the world to her was doubly desolate now that he was gone. “He was so bright, so handsome,” she said, “and he looked so sorry like when he said ‘poor little Milly!’ Oh, I wish he would stay with me always!” Then she remembered what he had said to her of going to Boston, and she resolved that when next old Hepsy’s treatment became harsher than she could bear, she would surely follow his advice and run away to Boston, perhaps, and be waiting-maid to Miss Geraldine Veille. She had no idea what the duties of a waiting-maid were, but no situation could be worse than her present one, and then Lawrence would be there a portion of the time at least. Yes, she would certainly run away, she said; nor was it very long ere she had an opportunity of carrying her resolution into effect, for as the weather grew colder, Hepsy, who was troubled with rheumatism and corns, became intolerably cross and one day punished Mildred for a slight offense far more severely than she had ever done before.