"But she's not blue," said Phil; "she's as cheery and mirthful as I ever saw her." "There's the beauty of it," said Reuben. "Many women carry their faith with a face as long and as dull as a sermon. But, by Jove, her face bubbles over with laughter as easily as it ever did." Sister Rose had, of course, met Phil on his return most gushingly. There is something very beautiful in that warm sisterly affection which at a certain age can put no bounds to its admiring pride. There is a fading away of it as the years progress, and as the sisters drop into little private clamorous circles of their own, and look out upon other people through the spectacles of their husband's eyes,--as they are pretty apt to do; but for a long period following upon the school age it is very tender and beautiful. If Phil had been coarse, or selfish, or awkward, or ten times the sinner in any way that he was, Rose would most surely have found some charming little excuse for each and every sin, and delighted in reflecting upon him the glow of her own purity. Of course she insists coyly upon his making the village rounds with her. Those intellectual ladies, the Misses Hapgood, must have an opportunity of admiring his grand air, and the easy manner he has brought back with him of entering a parlor, or of passing the compliments of the day: and, indeed, those respectable old ladies do pay him the honor of keeping him in waiting, until they can arrange their best frontlets, and present themselves in their black silks and in kerchiefs wet with lavender. Now little Rose maintains an admiring and eager silence while that rare brother astonishes these good Ashfield ladies with the great splendors of his walk and conversation. Then with what a bewildering success the traveller, under convoy of the delighted Rose, comes down upon the family of the Tourtelots! What an elaborate toilette Almira matures for his reception! and how the Dame nervously dusts and redusts her bombazine at sight of his grand manner, as she peeps through the half-opened blinds! The Deacon is not, indeed, so much "taken off the hooks" by Phil, but entertains him in the old way. "Pooty well on't for beef cattle in Cuby, Philip?" And Rose's eyes glisten, as Brother Philip goes on to set forth some of the wonders of the crops, and the culture. "Waael, they're smart farmers, I've heerd," says the Deacon; "but we're makin' improvements here in Ashfield. Doaen't know as you've seen Square Wilkinson's new string o' wall he's been a-buildin' all the way between his home pastur' and the west medders?" Phil has not. "Waael, it's wuth seein'. I doaen't _know_ what they pretend to have in Cuby; but in my opinion, there a'n't such another string o' stone fence, not in the whole caounty!" And Phil has had his little private talks with Rose,--about Adele, among other people. "She is more charming than ever," Rose had said. "I suppose so." And there had been a pause here.