“Not yet, mamma,” Margaret answered. “But it’s only half-past nine, you know. I reckon they’ll not come for a long while yet. They must have found plenty of birds; I heard their guns again and again.” “Yes, I did, too. Well, I hope Phil will be able to keep Mr. North entertained, dear. I should so dislike having him return to his home thinking us shabby and commonplace.” Mrs. Ryerson sighed, folded her white hands in her lap and looked silently out of the window. Margaret found some sewing and drew a small chair into the broad shaft of sunlight. “He has wonderful eyes, dear.” Margaret looked from threading her needle and laughed softly. “Oh, mamma, you’ve ‘done gone’ and fell in love again! And with a Northerner, too!” Mrs. Ryerson smiled and shook her head. “I hope I shall never grow so old that I shall be indifferent to a man’s looks, Margey,” she answered. After a moment she added: “Your father was the handsomest man I ever saw.” “Phillip is like him, isn’t he?” “Yes, greatly like, dear. And more like than ever since he came back. There’s a difference, dear. You’ve observed it?” “Yes; he seems――well, more quiet. It’s as though he’d rubbed some of his corners off, too. He’s taller, I reckon, and straighter, and――and older.” “Yes, older,” echoed Mrs. Ryerson. “And more like Phillip――your father, I mean. I think college has done him good already. But――I don’t want him to change much more, Margey.” She dropped into silence again. Then, “You haven’t told him――anything yet?” she asked. “Oh, no,” answered Margaret, shaking her brown head above the garment in her lap. “What’s the use, mamma? It would only trouble him. I don’t think he has noticed any difference. Perhaps――later――when he comes home for the summer――――” “Yes, he will have to know then. I fear he will feel badly about losing the place, Margey.” “Yes.” Margaret looked through the window across the morning landscape. “Yes,” she repeated, “I know he will. But――――” She didn’t finish the sentence, but went back to her work with a little sigh. Daphne bore the tray away and for several minutes the room was still. Then Mrs. Ryerson withdrew her gaze from the outside world and glanced across at her daughter and smiled as though at her thoughts. “Don’t you think that he is very good looking, Margey?” “Phil?” “No, dear, Mr. North.” “M――yes,” answered Margaret, in the tone of one considering a question for the first time. “And you like him, don’t you?” “I reckon I do,” was the reply. “Anyhow, I don’t dislike him. Of course, Phil thinks he’s very wonderful, and I reckon that’s enough, don’t you? We needn’t all fall down and worship, need we?” “My dear,” said Mrs. Ryerson, mildly, aggrievedly, “I certainly said nothing about worshiping him. I do think he’s an extremely handsome young man, with grand eyes, and a perfect gentleman if ever there was one; quite like a Virginian. And he has been very kind to Phil, dear, and――and――――”