"I'd rather be a tailor and make coats for the moon than fit myself to your humors." "Every man knows best what trade fits him; and now you have spoken of it, the goose doth seem your proper symbol. "Yes," Romney went on, growing more and more nettled, "the moon changes but every quarter, while to meet the changes of your whims a man must be on tip-toe every hour." "Tip-toe--ah, yes! now I do recall that the vision _was_ on tip-toe and looking first at the moon and then at me, as though he knew not which he liked the best." "It is my belief you never saw any such vision." "Perhaps I was mistook. Anyway, the charm has not come true, for it said I was to meet the man I should marry to-day, and you see for yourself he is not here. Now my limbs are weary sitting so long; I think I will try walking." With this she slipped from her saddle and walked on a few steps in advance of Romney, humming as she went,-- "'I am as I am, and so will I be; But how that I am, none knoweth truly; Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free, I am as I am, and so will I be.'" There was a peculiar quality in Peggy's voice that made it an interpreter of her personality. It had as many changes in it as her moods. Now it sounded like a church bell over distant meadows, now like a child praying at its mother's knee, and then would come a sudden break of laughter like the trill of a bobolink shooting Parthian arrows of song as he flies. Huntoon followed her, watching the scarlet cloak against the green background of the pines, and the stray curls that the wind blew backward as she walked. Neale and Cornwaleys were far behind beyond the turn in the road. At length he could bear it no longer. They were alone. He drew closer and whispered something in her ear. "Indeed! And pray what of it?" answered the girl, coolly. "I will tell you what of it," said the young man between his teeth. "I am not to be treated as I have seen you treat those tame gallants in the town back there. When I tell you I love you, you may refuse the love and you may say me nay; but you shall hear me out with respect, and you shall give me a serious answer, as the true love of an honorable man deserves whether it be returned or no." Peggy did not turn, but she listened. This masterful note in his voice was a new thing. She could scarcely have told whether she liked it or resented it--perhaps a little of both. Certainly she was not inclined to accept it meekly or without protest. As Huntoon finished speaking, Peggy had just bent forward a pine bough that she might pass without stepping in the mud. A wicked impulse seized the girl, and releasing the branch suddenly she stepped aside, and the bough struck Huntoon sharply in the face, his cheek reddening under the blow of its stiff needles.