Susan blushed and smiled, and took it up. “Oh, it is beautiful,” she said. “Isn’t it beautifully done, mother?” and then all the three got up to look at it, and all confessed that it was excellently done. “And I am sure we are very much obliged to you,” said Susan after a pause, remembering that she had not yet thanked him. “Oh, it’s nothing,” said he, not quite liking the word “we.” On the following day he returned from his work to Saratoga about noon. This he had never done before, and therefore no one expected that he would be seen in the house before the evening. On this occasion, however, he went straight thither, and as chance would have it, both the widow and her elder daughter were out. Susan was there alone in charge of the house. He walked in and opened the parlour door. There she sat, with her feet on the fender, with her work unheeded on the table behind her, and the picture, Aaron’s drawing, lying on her knees. She was gazing at it intently as he entered, thinking in her young heart that it possessed all the beauties which a picture could possess. “Oh, Mr. Dunn,” she said, getting up and holding the telltale sketch behind the skirt of her dress. “Miss Susan, I have come here to tell your mother that I must start for New York this afternoon and be there for six weeks, or perhaps longer.” “Mother is out,” said she; “I’m so sorry.” “Is she?” said Aaron. “And Hetta too. Dear me. And you’ll be wanting dinner. I’ll go and see about it.” Aaron began to swear that he could not possibly eat any dinner. He had dined once, and was going to dine again;—anything to keep her from going. “But you must have something, Mr. Dunn,” and she walked towards the door. But he put his back to it. “Miss Susan,” said he, “I guess I’ve been here nearly two months.” “Yes, sir, I believe you have,” she replied, shaking in her shoes, and not knowing which way to look. “And I hope we have been good friends.” “Yes, sir,” said Susan, almost beside herself as to what she was saying. “I’m going away now, and it seems to be such a time before I’ll be back.” “Will it, Sir?” “Six weeks, Miss Susan!” and then he paused, looking into her eyes, to see what he could read there. She leant against the table, pulling to pieces a morsel of half-ravelled muslin which she held in her hand; but her eyes were turned to the ground, and he could hardly see them.