machines. Any display of it from him, would have been as startling to his master, as it would have been, had the watch in his pocket suddenly addressed him in good English. Thomas, however, was just the servant for Mr. Rutledge; he would have been worse than useless to a lazy man who wanted a valet to take care of him; but Mr. Rutledge chose to do his own thinking in most cases, and only wanted his orders promptly executed, which Thomas certainly was capable of doing, and did to admiration. A very nice lunch Mrs. Roberts had prepared for us, and we drank her health gratefully in some very superior Burgundy. We did not hurry ourselves at all; and as I treated Tigre to some of the remaining delicacies, and Thomas packed up the baskets again, Mr. Rutledge lazily sketched the group from the carriage window, on a blank leaf in my book; making rather a spirited drawing of it, only caricaturing grotesquely the length of Thomas' legs, and my eyelashes. Then we got _en route_ again, and with occasional stoppings to sketch, which I insisted on, and occasional pauses at village inns to water the horses, or rather to wash their faces, the afternoon wore on. "Tired?" Of course not, never fresher in my life. What a nuisance railcars are, with their distracting racket and bustle and jar. Why do not people always travel in carriages? Mr. Rutledge agreed with me that it was very pleasant; indeed, he seemed to enjoy it, just as he did that ride I had such good cause to remember. He left all care and sadness behind at Rutledge, and gave himself up to the present. In that little travelling-cap, too, I was sure he didn't look a day over thirty. "Mr. Rutledge, you look to-day so like that crayon sketch of your young relative, that you gave me. It is really wonderful." Mr. Rutledge laughed, and asked me if I continued to admire it. "Oh, as much as ever," I answered, laughing, and blushing, too, under cover of the twilight, for the short November day had faded. He evidently thought I was still deceived about the picture, and I did not enlighten him. "I mean to hang it in the very best light in my room in New York, where I can look at it from 'morn to dewy eve,' if I choose." "I advise you not; Josephine will ferret out the mystery, and expose your romantic devotion. She isn't given that way herself, and will not spare you. Your ideas of hero-worship and hers might not agree." "Well, if they do not, it may prove fortunate in the end. We shall not be so likely to interfere with each other." "If you do, 'may I be there to see!'" "Which would you bet on?"