Una, however, was different. The villagers did not regard her with the hostility that they had for her uncle. Orphaned at an early age, she had easily captured and held the affection of those who knew her. The tawny-haired girl, bubbling over with friendly prattle, her gray eyes--bluer then, as with the sky-tint of a clear dawn--sparkling with youthful enthusiasms, had a host of comrades and admirers long before she reached her teens. With equal grace and favor this radiant little creature accepted the tribute of farmer and farm-hand, and when it came to playmates was decidedly more at ease with the village maidens than with the decorous young ladies who were occasionally brought to Stoneleigh on a visit of state from the city. As Una grew older, this choice of associates, unchecked and even encouraged by her uncle and Elizabeth Quayle, the worthy but not over-astute matron who looked after Leighton's household, had its drawbacks. The girl's beauty, which was of no ordinary kind, inevitably touched with its flame victims who were not socially intended for this kind of conflagration. Una sometimes shared in their subsequent misery; but she was unable to lighten their woes in the only way they could be lightened. And when she discovered that the refusal of their offers usually meant the breaking up of a treasured friendship, she had been known to weep bitterly and form all kinds of self-denying resolutions for the future. The climax to her griefs in this respect, a climax partly responsible for her flight to Europe, came through the weakness (so his indignant aunt called it) of the district schoolmaster, Andrew Parmelee. Andrew was a solitary dreamer, a friendless, inoffensive sort of person, absorbed in books, oblivious to the world around him. Learning, such wisps and strays of it as lodged in his mind as a result of his omnivorous reading, he was quite incapable of imparting. The use of the ferule, also, was an enigma to him. Hence, there were those unkind enough to whisper that the Rysdale school, under his management, was not what it should be. But every one liked him, in a tolerant sort of way; and with Una he was in particular favor. Andrew didn't know this, at least for some time. When he did find it out, that is, when, quite by accident, as it seemed, Una tripped into his school one day to pay him a visit, it had quite a disastrous effect on him. Before that, women, in general and in particular, were utterly unknown to him, creatures to be shunned, to be feared. He was familiar, of course, with the eccentricities of his aunt, Hepzibah Armitage. She looked after his wardrobe, fed him, warned him of the various pitfalls of youth, stopped his spending the money allowed him by the village trustees on the ancient histories for which he had an insatiable appetite. She ruled with a rod of iron, and the rod wasn't always pleasant. But for all that, he felt that life without Aunt Hepzibah, although it might