“P. S.—I hope Captain Clifton will pardon me, if he thinks that I am doing wrong—but it has come into my head, that as Captain Clifton is about to marry, and reside in future at White Cliffs—and as Mrs. Clifton of Hardbargain, will then be quite alone—and as she is not so young, or active, or able to ride about her plantation, overseeing her field hands as formerly—perhaps she will be thinking of getting a farm-manager—if so, will Captain Clifton kindly remember my brother Carl, and speak a favorable word for him to the lady of Hardbargain, who already knows and trusts him? If Carl gets a situation as overseer, I can keep house for him, and we can both take care of our grandfather. Indeed I am afraid Captain Clifton will be justly angry with me for this liberty.” “What a letter!” exclaimed Archer Clifton, as his face alternately lighted up with satisfaction, or became clouded with thought. “What a letter for a rustic girl of fourteen! Yet characteristic of _her_ and of her situation. Showing the germs of reflection, forethought, courage and promptitude, the gifts of nature, mingled with that frankness bordering upon presumption, which belongs to total ignorance of the world. To dare to speak familiarly of our domestic affairs! But yet how naïvely she deprecates my displeasure, at what she feels may be received as presumption.” So deeply did Captain Clifton study Kate and her letter; Kate’s remarkable countenance, with its breadth of brow and gentleness of eyes, haunted him. He was a man of prompt decision and action—so, having once admitted the idea that his mother needed an overseer, he exclaimed— “Yes, my mother must be relieved from her arduous occupation—unbefitting a lady of her rank, and especially of her age. Why could I not think of that before? Why should I never have seen the necessity, until Catherine held it up before me? Yes—my mother must have a manager on her farm, and Carl Kavanagh shall be the man. I will pay his salary myself.” And he rung the bell, ordered his horse, and in less than fifteen minutes was on his way to Hardbargain. As he rode up to the house, he met a girl with a pail on her head, going to the spring, and inquired of her where her mistress was to be found. He was told, “down in the wheat field.” So, turning his horse’s head a little to the left of the house, he rode down the slope of the hill, to a wide harvest field, where he found Mrs. Clifton, seated on her mule, superintending the operations of some fifteen or twenty laborers, who were employed in stacking wheat. He rode up to his mother’s side, alighted, and held out his hand, saying— “How-do-you-do, to-day, madam? Busily engaged as ever, I see, mother.” “How-do-you-do, Archer? Yes, very busy.”