Lawton went on: “He offered himself to give us a lift as far as the house. He’s goin’ that way--ain’t you, Steve?” The impulse was strong in Jessica to resist--precisely why she might have found it difficult to explain--but apparently there was no choice remaining to her. “Very well, then,” she said, “I will sit beside you, father.” She stepped into the sleigh at this, and took her seat on the other end of the big trunk. The express-man gave a slap of the lines and a cluck to the horse, which started briskly down the wide street, the bell at its collar giving forth a sustained, cheery tinkle as they sped through the snow. “Well, what do you think--ain’t this better’n walkin’?” remarked Lawton, after a time, knocking his heels in a satisfied way against the side of the trunk. “I felt as if the walk would do me good,” she answered, simply. Her face was impassivity itself, as she looked straight before her, over the express-man’s shoulder. Ben Lawton felt oppressed by the conviction that his daughter was annoyed. Perhaps it was because he had insisted on riding--instead of saying that he would walk too, when she had disclosed her preference. He ventured upon an explanation, stealing wistful glances at her meantime: “You see, Jess, Dave Rantell’s got a turkey-shoot on to-day, down at his place, and I kind o’ thought I’d try my luck with this here half-dollar,'fore it gets dark. The days are shortenin’ so, this season o’ year, that I couldn’t get there without Steve give me a lift. And if I should get a turkey--why, we’ll have a regular Thanksgiving dinner; and with you come home, too!” To this she did not trust herself to make answer, but kept her face rigidly set, and her eyes fixed as if engrossed in meditation. They had passed the great iron-works on the western outskirts of the village now, and the road leading to the suburb of Burfield ran for a little through almost open country. The keener wind raised here in resistance to the rapid transit of the sleigh--no doubt it was this which brought the deep flush to her cheeks and the glistening moisture to her eyes. They presently overtook two young men who were trudging along abreast, each in one of the tracks made by traffic, and who stepped aside to let the sleigh go by. “Hello, Hod!” called out the expressman as he passed. “I’ve got your trunks. Come back for good?” “Hello, Steve!... I don’t quite know yet,” was the reply which came back--the latter half of it too late for the expressman’s ears. Jessica had not seen the pedestrians until the sleigh was close upon them; then, in the moment’s glimpse of them vouchsafed her, she had recognized young Mr. Boyce, and, in looking away from him with swift decision, had gazed full into the eyes of his companion. This other remembered her too, it was evident, even in that brief instant of passing, for a smile of greeting was in the glance he returned, and he lifted his hat as she swept by.