"Of course you must be having your own way, Miss Queenie dear," returned the old man as he lighted his pipe; "but, all the same, I don't believe that Hepshaw air agrees with you both. There, why the precious lamb has a cough, didn't you tell Molly so just now? and you are ever so much thinner yourself, my pretty; and when is it all going to end, this play-acting, the school-mistressing, I mean, and you and the blessed lamb settle down comfortably, like sensible-minded Christians, in a nice handsome home of your own, eh, Miss Queenie?" "Why, I don't know, Caleb," stammered the girl, rather startled at this very direct question, "I don't know at all; I have not made up my mind. Not before the end of the summer; no, certainly not before then." Caleb laid down his pipe, with a dissatisfied look. "I thought better of your common-sense, I did, indeed, Miss Queenie." "Now, Caleb, if you are going to be cross I shall tell Molly to pack up my bag, and I shall just take the next train home. What is the good of being an heiress if one is never to have one's own way?" "You have had it for a pretty long spell, I'm thinking," returned the old man with unusual pettishness, but the girl's whim fretted him sorely. "Mark my words, Miss Queenie, you will play at this thing a bit too long." "I shouldn't wonder if you were right," a touch of gravity replacing her fun; "and I think myself that it would be as well to fix a limit, for fear I should be tempted to put off the evil hour." "Eh, eh! now you are going to be sensible." "I must have six clear months. Let me see, I will say the first of August. There, Caleb, on the first of August I will enter into possession of my riches. Will that content you?" "Why not say May or June, Miss Queenie?" "No; not a day, not an hour before," returned the girl resolutely. "My dear old friend, this is not a whim only, it is real stern necessity. The dearest friends I possess have been in great trouble, as you know, and my seeming poverty has enabled me to help them; it is for their sake, not mine, that I am making this further delay. There, it is decided; and now let us talk of something else," she finished gaily. But Caleb was only half-mollified. "She is thinner, and looks different somehow," he said to his faithful confidante, Molly, that night. "There is a peaking look in her brown eyes, like a half-fledged bird that sees its nest, but can't find its way to it. I doubt that she is not quite happy, Molly." "Nay; she is no differ from other young girls," returned Molly shrewdly. "Bless your dear heart, Mr. Runciman, they are all alike! they fret a bit, and then cheer up. It is the law of nature, that's where it is; she will be as perky and chirping-like as ever by-and-bye," and Molly, who knew the symptoms well, and had buried her own sweetheart many years ago, changed the subject with womanly tact and sympathy. CHAPTER IX. "TOO MANY COOKS."