But alas for Wilford! He was but a man, subject to man’s caprices, and when next morning he met Katy Lennox, looking in her light muslin as pure and fair as the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his resolution began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel in Silverton; he would inquire of Dr. Grant; at all events he would not take the first train, though he might the next; and so he stayed, eating fried apples and beefsteak, but forgetting to criticise, in his appreciation of the rich thick cream poured into his coffee, and the sweet, golden butter, which melted in soft waves upon the flaky rolls. Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to mill before Wilford left his room, nor was he visible to the young man until after dinner, for Wilford did not go home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage which Morris sent round, excusing himself from coming on the plea of being too busy, but saying he would join them at tea, if possible. Wilford’s mind was not yet fully made up, so he concluded to remain another day and see more of Katy’s family. Accordingly, after dinner, he bent his energies to cultivating them all, from Helen down to Aunt Betsy, who proved the most transparent of the four. Arrayed again in the pongee, but this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor, bringing her calico patch-work, which she informed him was pieced in the “herrin’ bone pattern” and intended for Katy; telling him further, that the feather bed on which he slept was also a part of “Catherine’s setting out,” and was made from feathers she picked herself, showing him as proof a mark upon her arm, left there by the gray goose, which had proved a little refractory when she tried to draw a stocking over its head.