"You must go; I cannot; I shall go back to business to-morrow." I glanced at Redmond; he was contemplating a portrait of myself at the age of fourteen. "Shall we go?" Laura asked him. "Nothing, thank you," he answered. We all laughed, and Harry Lothrop said,-- "Redmond, my boy, how fond you are of pictures!" Redmond, with an unmoved face, said,-- "Don't be absurd about my absent-mindedness. What were you saying?" And he turned to me. "Do you like our plan," I asked, "of going to the Lake House? There is a deep pond, a fine wood, a bridge,--perch, pickerel,--a one-story inn with a veranda,--ham and eggs, stewed quince, elderberry wine,--and a romantic road to ride over." "I like it." Frank opened a discussion on fishing; Laura and I withdrew, and went to the window-seat. "I am light-hearted," I said. "It is my duty to be melancholy," she replied; "but I shall not mope after Frank has gone." "'After them the deluge,'" said I. "How long will they stay?" "Till they are bored, I fancy." "Oh, they are going; we must leave our recess." Frank and she remained; the others bid us good-night. "I shall not come again till Christmas," he said. "These college-chaps will amuse you and make the time pass; they are young,--quite suitable companions for you girls. _Vive la bagatelle!_" He sighed, and, drawing Laura's arm in his, rose to go. She groaned loudly, and he nipped her ears. "Good-bye, Margaret; let Laura take care of you. There is a deal of wisdom in her." We shook hands, Laura moaning all the while, and they went home. Frank and Laura had been engaged three years. He was about thirty, and was still too poor to marry. Wednesday proved pleasant. We had an early dinner, and our cavalcade started from Laura's. I rode my small bay horse Folly, a gift from my absentee brother. His coat was sleeker than satin; his ears moved perpetually, and his wide nostrils were always in a quiver. He was not entirely safe, for now and then he jumped unexpectedly; but I had ridden him a year without accident, and felt enough acquainted with him not to be afraid. Redmond eyed him. "You are a bold rider," he said. "No," I answered,--"a careful one. Look at the bit, and my whip, too. I cut his hind legs when he jumps. Observe that I do not wear a long skirt. I can slip off the saddle, if need be, without danger." "That's all very well; but his eyes are vicious; he will serve you a trick some day." "When he does, I'll sell him for a cart-horse."