“Just at first he startled me, he came so swiftly. What did you call him?” Sherry said; and Alex. replied, “Sherry,—odd, I know, but pretty; don’t you think so? I am his master, Alex. Marsh, and you are——?” Sherry hesitated a moment and then answered, with a laugh, “The girls call me Fanny, and Mrs. Groves, No. 1. I am your waitress.” “By George!” Alex. said, under his breath, and in his surprise letting go of the dog’s mane. Not till that moment had he noticed Sherry’s dress, the white apron and cap, which told her position, and which he recognized as one of the lot he had bought in New York. “By George!” he said again, because he had nothing else to say, while Sherry’s beautiful eyes twinkled with a look of half scorn and amusement at his discomfiture. “Fanny! Yes, that’s so. I ought to have known. I beg your pardon.” “For mistaking me for a lady?” Sherry said, and now there was scorn and sarcasm both in her voice, which made Alex. wince and feel small, while, for want of something better to do, he wrenched the chip from his dog’s mouth and sent it out upon the grass, followed swiftly by the delighted animal. It seemed scarcely a second before he was back to where Alex. still stood looking curiously at Sherry and stammering he scarcely knew what except that he hoped she liked it at Maplehurst, and was comfortable and not overworked. He wanted everyone to have a good time, and if there was anything he could do for her she must let him know. Mrs. Groves, who hated dogs, had heard the clatter of Sherry’s feet and seen him as he disappeared around the corner. She was very careful to have the piazzas kept clean and had had them scrubbed that morning, and here was that huge creature careering over them like mad. His place was at the stables with the horses, where a kennel had been built for him, and she started after him, shooing him as if he had been a hen and shaking her satin skirt at him, but stopped suddenly as she caught sight of Mr. Alexander Marsh talking to No. 1, who stood before him with what Polly, if she had seen her, would have called her grandest Duchess manner, and was actually smiling in his face, and showing her fine teeth and dimples. Mrs. Groves had been constantly expecting something out of the common from Sherry; but nothing quite so barefaced as thrusting herself upon Mr. Marsh’s notice before he had been there half an hour, and every thread in her satin gown rustled and the keys at her side gave out individual jingles as she said, “Young woman, this is not your place; you are wanted in the house to take towels to the rooms in corridor 2.”